


Hurry Up and Wait

by walviemort



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Magical Pregnancy, Mpreg, rapid pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28268913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walviemort/pseuds/walviemort
Summary: After the events of 6x09, Killian finds himself unexpectedly and rapidly pregnant; from first stirrings to full term in a week. Little does he know, Rumplestiltskin is pulling the strings as a form of revenge, and has full control over how fast—or slow—this pregnancy goes. He'll need to rely on Emma, and all his loved ones, to get through whatever comes next.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 21
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After months, I'm back! This story has kind of consumed me for the last week; it's definitely the fastest I've ever written anything (around 18k in a week and it's not done). Hope you all enjoy it! Lots more to come!

It was the final straw. First, the pirate had taken Milah; then he’d helped keep him apart from Bae for so long. And now? Now, he was part of the reason Belle was leaving Rumplestiltskin behind, and had sent their son away. Hook had no idea what it was like to suffer such loss. But the Dark One would see to it that he did.

And he had to admit—the spell he’d found was rather ingenious; something that had come over from the Land of Untold Stories and piqued his interest. And would let him have a bit of fun along the way. Well, fun for him; not so much for Jones.

It was sheer luck that the Savior and her beau broke into his shop that night. Normally, he’d take issue with that; but it merely gave him a chance to enact his revenge.

While the couple was inspecting a sword, Rumple froze them in place with a wave of his hand. From his coat pocket, he pulled a small glass orb; it would let him control the spell and keep an eye on things. And with a few more gestures that resulted in a brief glow coming from the pirate’s midsection (which mirrored in the orb), it was done. 

He unfroze them and disappeared into the night, content that he’d finally be getting even with his longtime enemy. Far away from town, he pulled out the orb and peered in to see how things were faring; at the rate it was going, he had at least a few days before anyone figured out what was happening. (Unless he changed that, of course.)

\---------------------------------------------

The next morning, Killian was shocked when the sun was shining through the curtains of the bedroom as he awoke. He was usually one to wake with the sunrise, but given the day they’d had yesterday—not to mention the frantic coming together he and Emma had last night—it was no surprise he’d slept in.

Nor was it that an unease had settled over him. Just because they’d found the weapon meant to kill Emma didn’t mean they’d truly solved anything in regards to her supposed fate. Just the thought of losing her...gods, it turned his stomach.

Quite literally—seconds later, he found himself making a mad dash for their washroom, only to lose what remained of last night’s dinner. It had been quite some time since nerves made him nauseous but he supposed it was warranted; his present sense of apprehension was on level with any he’d felt before heading into battle. He leaned against the wall of the bathroom and took a few measured breaths to help calm him; while it helped his racing heart, it did little to ease his stomach. He’d take it, though.

After rinsing his mouth out, he took his pajama-clad self downstairs to the kitchen, where a quiet display of domesticity lay before him: Emma and Henry, sharing a breakfast of Pop-Tarts and coffee at the table, laughing quietly at some unheard joke. It was so easy, so casual, and quite honestly, all he wanted in the world. It hadn’t been that long since his own resurrection and he’d be damned again if he didn’t fight to hold onto it.

“Killian, are you okay?” Emma asked, finally noticing his entrance. Killian jumped and sniffled at her enquiry, surprised at her query. He scrubbed a hand along his face and it came back wet—he was crying? Goodness, he was more out of sorts than he thought. “Aye, love; just need to get some food in me,” he shrugged off.

“Well, I made Pop-Tarts,” she joked as he strode into the kitchen, pausing to place a kiss on her temple. “Your favorite,” she drawled sarcastically.

“Perhaps another time,” he tossed back as he grabbed a coffee mug from the counter; a full pot was waiting. But when he reached for it to pour himself a cup, the smell of it turned his stomach yet again; it was all he could do to put it back before he was retching into the sink.

Emma was at his side in an instant, rubbing his back through the thin cotton of his tshirt. “Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked again, concern evident in her tone.

“Apparently not,” he breathed once he was done. “That’s the second time its happened today.”

She put the back of her hand on his forehead in a motherly move that filled him with another odd welling of emotion. Though her brow was furrowed, she assessed that he was “not running a fever, but you do look a bit green around the gills.”

“There’s a stomach bug going around at school,” Henry chimed in. “Maybe it’s that?”

“It could be. You’ve definitely been running yourself thin lately.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but was merely met with another wave of nausea—though there wasn’t anything left to come up.

“Hey kid, can you get yourself to school okay?” she asked over her shoulder while resuming her ministrations on his back.

“Of course.”

“Okay; we’re gonna take a sick day, then.”

He stood straight again. “But Emma—the sword—”

“—Isn’t going anywhere,” she interrupted. “We are BOTH going to go back to bed, take a nap, maybe watch some sitcoms, and order takeout. We need it.”

He couldn’t deny that it sounded divine. “Aye, love; sounds excellent.”

The nausea never quite abated, although bland crackers and ginger ale seemed to help. True to her word, they curled up in bed and intermittently napped during the day; had a few heart-to-hearts about their general emotional states, and maybe had a few intimate moments sprinkled in there.

Unfortunately, the next day saw little change to his illness, but Emma had to handle some sheriff matters and couldn’t stay home. “But I’ll check up on you at lunch, okay?”

“I’m a grown man, love; I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to.”

It certainly wasn’t as enjoyable a day as the previous one, but by the end of it, he found the nausea had finally abated. Perhaps Emma was right; a couple days of rest was all he needed to get back into fighting shape. He made plans to meet up with Belle the next day, both for research—and to make sure his friend was doing alright.

\---------------------------------------------

Away in his cabin, Rumplestiltskin glanced at the orb. He’d certainly enjoyed Hook’s being unwell, and was slightly miffed that wouldn’t carry through. But more dramatic things were about to unfold.

\---------------------------------------------

To Killian’s surprise, the following morning found him with an entirely different sensation in his stomach: he was starving. To be expected, he supposed, considering he’d hardly been able to keep down anything the past couple days. He didn’t want to push it, but he needed something—fast.

Emma was still asleep next to him (he’d awoken at his normal time for a change) so he slipped out quietly to head downstairs. His usual breakfast fare wasn’t sounding as good as usual, so he poked around the cupboards to see if anything else caught his eye—and, to his astonishment, it did.

A bit later, when Emma joined him in the kitchen, she paused at what was surely an odd sight. “Seriously?” was all she could muster.

“I believe I may have misjudged these, love,” he said bashfully, biting into his Pop-Tart. It was sweet and flaky and precisely what he’d been craving that morning.

Emma just blinked in surprise. “Well, I hope you saved some for me.”

Killian said nothing as she made her way to what he knew was an empty box. He winced as she sighed. “Well, at least your appetite is back. And I guess we need to go to the store.”

“I’ll head there this evening to stock up.”

“You better.”

Before he headed to the library, he made sure to stop by Granny’s for some tea—and some pastries; it seemed his craving had yet to abate (and he was certain Belle would appreciate some extra treats). 

She was understandably morose on his arrival; before they got into any sort of research, he made sure to pull her over to the lone sofa there to have a chat—or, better yet, have a cry; his heart truly broke for his friend. He couldn’t imagine the strength it had taken to send her son away, and he wasn’t quite sure he’d be able to do the same in her position.

As he predicted, though, the treats did help a bit (though he found himself consuming far more of them than he typically would). Their research yielded little, though, so he sent Belle home with the few remaining pastries as he headed to the market—where he was overwhelmed by the Pop-Tart selection. How had he been depriving himself so long? He bought one of each; hopefully that would placate Emma.

He should have also found it odd that he consumed more pizza that night for dinner than he usually would but apparently he was still playing catchup from the previous two days. Neither Emma nor Henry found it odd, so he too remained unconcerned.

His jeans were a bit snug the next morning but he figured he just needed some more time to digest; it wasn’t unusual for a sickness to throw him off like that. But he couldn’t help it if he was hungry still. He tried to keep up his fluids as well, but that didn’t stop him from snacking through the day—or devouring their Chinese takeout that night.

He and Emma were curled up in bed, engaging in some typical evening activities, when she began tracing his side and running her thumbs over his stomach—and, oddly, giggling. “What’s so funny, love?”

“Nothing; you’ve just got a food baby, is all.”

“A what?”

“A food baby,” she said again, patting his (slightly stuffed) belly. “It’s when you eat a lot and it just kind of sits there.” His brow furrowed in consternation—that was the last thing he wanted. She noticed his discomfort, though, as she always did, and laughed again. “Hey, it’s fine—it’s actually pretty cute. It’ll be gone by tomorrow. Now can we get back to what we were doing?”

Well, he could never say no to that, and her words were quickly forgotten in favor of more pleasurable pursuits.

But they came roaring back when his jeans were a bit more tight the next day, and that weight that had settled in his stomach was visible in a slight rounding just behind his navel. Perhaps he was overindulging. He knew it was also a sign of aging (that and the few silvery hairs at his temples) but if he could control it, he’d like to keep his trim form.

He did his best that day to pare back, to only eat at meal times. But come evening, he was starved yet again, and may have polished off the pizza leftovers from the night before. (Thankfully, Emma was working at the station, so he was free of her comments that evening.)

Still...the worry plagued him the next morning when his stomach seemed impossibly larger. There was always a decent chance his eyes were playing tricks on him, but it was still worrying. (As if he didn’t have enough of those.)

He skipped breakfast, instead going for a run about town. His jeans still buttoned, at least, although just barely. Mid-day found him chasing Lost Boys across town, which gave him a reason to avoid lunch. By the time he got back to the station with the miscreants that afternoon, his stomach was gnawing at him and he was a bit lightheaded. 

Emma noticed, immediately, of course. “You feeling alright? Is the stomach bug back?”

“No, no,” he assured her, though probably unconvincingly. “I just need some water; I’ll be right back.” 

But he’d hardly pulled a glass from the cupboard over the sink when the world began to spin. He tried to grip the counter for stability, but it didn’t help much, and he continued on to the floor. The last thing he heard before the world went black was Emma frantically calling his name.

An indeterminate amount of time later, a steady beeping woke him up. He blinked a few times; they were in the hospital. Bloody hell.

He looked around to get his bearings, and Emma was at the side of the bed, holding his hand. HIs other arm was hooked up to an IV, and he could feel a number of other things stuck to him, monitoring other various things.

What struck him as truly odd, though, was the sensor he could feel on one side of his stomach.

“Emma, what’s…” he started to say, though he was still a bit out of breath—and parched.

She jumped at his voice, clearly lost in thought, but the concern quickly melted to a smile. “Hey, welcome back. What did you get yourself into?”

“My own vanity, I suppose,” he said. “What’s all this I’m hooked up to?”

Emma bit her lip, like she was trying to hold something back. She was clearly nervous about something.

“Love, what’s going on?”

She swallowed, clearly working up the nerve for something. He was confused; if something was wrong with him, she wouldn’t be smiling—but something had her conflicted.

“Well, as you probably figured out, you passed out at the station. Turns out you were dehydrated and running on an empty stomach. But the main reason that’s a problem is—”

“Alright, let’s take a look at that baby!” Doctor Whale’s voice interrupted Emma as he entered the room, pulling a machine with a large screen attached to it.

Baby? What on Earth? “Emma, are you…?” Gods, he couldn’t imagine that he’d ever be blessed enough to have a child with Emma, but if what the doctor was saying was true, then…

“No, I’m not,” she said slowly, but then moved her free hand onto his stomach. “But you, somehow, are.”

He was...he was pregnant? He started laughing. “You’re joking, right?”

Emma just bit her lip and shook her head. He turned to the doctor who just nodded.

“But that...that’s impossible.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen weirder things,” Whale said. “A pregnant man is only, like, fifth on my list. And you’re not even the first one I’ve come across.”

Killian swallowed and stared at his stomach. That...was a babe? It would explain some things—his illness, his cravings, his heightened emotions. Although his understanding of pregnancy was that it took a lot longer for those things to happen than they had to him. And there was still the biggest issue: he was a man. “How?” was all he could say.

Whale just shrugged. “Magic. You’d be surprised how many spells out there exist for this.”

He gave a snort of derision, but let his head fall back against the pillow of his hospital bed. Pregnant. He was with child. By some magical means. Gods, was it even actually a child? And whose was it? The number of questions he had was overwhelming—as if he didn’t have enough to worry about.

“Hey,” Emma said, squeezing his hand and pulling him out of his stream of racing thoughts. “We’ll figure this out.”

He just swallowed and nodded.

“I hate to interrupt this existential crisis, but I do need to take a look inside there to see what’s going on. Mind if I pull up your shirt?”

“Go ahead,” he said in a small voice, squeezing Emma’s hand. “Will it hurt?”

“No, but it’ll be cold,” the doctor answered as he went to work. The man was nothing but clinical as he lifted Killian’s shirt, exposing the gentle curve of his stomach. Looking at it now, Killian could definitely see the resemblance to an expectant mother. He jolted when Whale put the odd, cool substance low on his belly (bloody hell, it was a belly), but then was distracted when the doctor turned on the screen and picked up a wand-like device.

He pressed the instrument against Killian’s skin and moved it back and forth; this must be how Robin had acquired that image from inside Zelena (far less intrusive than he had expected). The image on the screen was a blurry mess for the most part, but eventually a clearer picture began to take shape: the definitive form of an infant.

He and Emma both gasped at the same time. The image on the screen began to move, and he almost swore he could feel the echoing tiny movements within. Whale began to point things out—head, spine, fingers, toes—but Killian just kept staring at the image, in awe: he was going to be a father.

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

“Now, this is the fun part,” Whale said in a voice that indicated it was anything but. “I can tell how far along the kid is from these pictures, but something tells me the truth is not quite the same. When did you notice things changing with you?”

“Um,” Killian stammered, trying to find his voice again. “It was...5 days ago? Right? That I came down with a stomach bug, but it was gone by the end of the following day. And I’ve been voracious ever since.”

Whale just whistled. “Well, I can’t say I’ve seen one like this, then. Looks like you moved up to number four on my list.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because this fetus is 5 months along.”

“What?” It was Emma’s turn to be incredulous (though how she’d remained calm at all was astonishing to him).

“Yeah, whatever this spell is, it’s accelerated. At the rate it’s gone, you’ll be having this kid in, like, four days.”

Killian could feel his jaw drop, and a glance at Emma showed the same. Four days? That was insane.

It was a bloody good thing he was already on a bed, because he fainted again.

\---------------------------------------------

It wasn’t quite how Rumple figured the news would be discovered, but he was pleased nonetheless at the pirate’s distress. Four days until parenthood was indeed a terrifying prospect.

Imagine if he had even less than that, though...the Dark One cackled in delight and waved his hand over the orb, then hung back to watch the next events unfold.


	2. Chapter 2

Once Killian woke again, he was released from the hospital, albeit with lots of warnings. For one, that he promised to eat and drink properly; and for two, that he come in once a day for a checkup. Whale was pleased that the spell made sure Killian’s body was acclimating for birth but he still wanted to closely observe, even if for his own notes.

They stopped at Granny’s on the way home for some takeout, but Killian stayed in the car, not sure he’d be able to face...well, anyone, let alone the entire town, with the news they’d just gotten.

While Emma was inside, he stared at his stomach for the longest time. Now that he was aware of it, he could feel the wriggling of its inhabitant. It was...eerie, though also somewhat mesmerizing, even if he couldn’t see it on the outside yet.

Yet. That was going to change quickly. Hell, he was fairly sure he could see his stomach expanding as he watched; it was easily straining against the buttons of his button-down, which it hadn’t been that morning. He placed his hand on it, in some vain attempt to slow it down, or perhaps just to feel closer to the child growing within. His feelings were all over the place and he could hardly read his own thoughts.

He was thrilled to become a parent, that was certain; it was something that had long evaded him and he was only just getting into the swing of things with Henry. But he was apprehensive about the fact that he’d be the one carrying and birthing the child; it wasn’t known to be a walk in the park. And were they really ready to bring a child into the world when Emma’s fate was still in question?

But the biggest wonder of all: how did this happen, and who had done it? He could make some guesses in the Crocodile’s direction, but just because Killian was always quick to blame him didn’t mean it was. They’d have to talk to Regina tomorrow; he’d have to keep his worries at bay until then.

And then he realized—they only had a few days to get everything together for a baby. He saw how much Emma’s brother required, and here they were with absolutely nothing. He started making a mental list of all the things they needed, which surely wasn’t even enough, and started mildly panicking again when he was pulled from his thoughts by Emma’s hand on his.

“Hey—it’s gonna be fine,” she assured him. He could tell she was just as worried as him, but her confidence was reassuring.

And then his stomach grumbled, breaking the tense silence.

“Alright, let’s get home and get you two fed.”

(If he wiped away a tear at that, he hoped no one could blame him.)

By the time they were through with dinner—a cheeseburger and lasagna for him, to his astonishment—he’d had to unbuckle his jeans, and he wasn’t sure if it was the babe or the food to blame (likely both). However, Emma’s suggestion of getting him out of his pants altogether was a pleasant distraction from wondering.

They curled up after coming together, both hands joined on his growing bump. It felt oddly natural, even if it was anything but, and he was finally able to drift off knowing she was at his side for whatever was to come.

The following morning threw him for a loop, though; when he tried to get out of bed, he found he couldn’t sit up like he usually could; the babe had definitely grown overnight and was taking up much more space on his abdomen, rounding it even more. It took a few tries before he figured out the right way to roll himself to standing. 

On the bright side, his flannel sleep pants still fit, their elastic more than accommodating enough for the alterations to his waist and hips. His tshirt fit well enough at the moment, though where it used to be loose, the bump was definitely visible through it. With any luck, it would get him through the day.

Emma had prepared a feast for breakfast, and he felt rather self-conscious about how much of it he consumed. “Don’t be,” she assured him. “You’re growing a human at a rate way beyond the speed anyone has ever grown one. That’s gonna consume a lot of energy so eat as much as you want.” He promptly helped himself to two more Pop-Tarts; if the wiggling he was feeling low in his belly was anything to go on, the little one was also a fan.

A challenge arose, however, when he went back upstairs to get changed; while the pajama pants would work for home, his vanity was wounded enough at the moment that he refused to wear them outside.

But his jeans could barely get up his hips, let alone clasp shut.

“Oh! I know what we can do,” Emma said right away, noticing his dilemma. She came up and grabbed the button, then seemed to be weaving fabric out of magic. When she was done, a swath of stretchy fabric was now attached to his pants, running from his hips all the way to the top of the bump. “There; that should have you set for a while. This way, they’ll stretch out as the baby grows.” She spent a long moment staring at and caressing his belly, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a tear fell.

“Emma, what is it?”

She sniffled. “Nothing, nothing; just...I know this isn’t anything we ever planned, or even talked about, but...I’m kind of excited. And then I feel bad for being excited because I know you’re the one who’s going to be dealing with all the crappy parts.”

He reached up to brush her tear away. “Don’t fret, love; I feel the same way.”

Just then came the strongest movement he’d yet felt from inside. “Oh!” he exclaimed, his hand rushing to the spot.

“What is it? Are they kicking?”

He didn’t say anything; he just took her hand and placed it over the spot where the babe was making their presence known. She sucked in a breath, but then looked up at him with starry eyes.

As odd as this all was, at least it was giving them these moments.

After the babe calmed down a bit, he finished getting dressed (putting his tshirt back on and throwing a button up over that, though obviously it would not close) and they headed out to Regina’s. Conveniently, it was Henry’s week at her house, so they’d be able to break the news to him as well. And they had plans to eat dinner with her parents later, after stopping in with Whale.

“Hey, Mom; hey—Killian?” Henry greeted them at the door, and to no one’s surprise, was taken aback by Killian’s changed physique. “How-how are you guys doing?” he asked, clearly trying to be polite.

“We’ll explain it in a bit,” Emma said. “Can you grab your mom?”

Regina took one look at Killian and started laughing. “Who knocked you up?”

He could feel heat rising in his cheeks as he studied her carpet. “We were hoping you could tell us that.”

“Wait—what?” was Henry’s response.

“Um, yeah,” was Emma’s reply.

Regina began to inspect Killian with her magic, leaving him feeling very much like a scientific specimen (which, he supposed, he was) while Emma explained. However, the Queen didn’t have much news for them. 

“I’ve never seen this spell before. I’ve read about some like it, but this is definitely different. I wish I could tell you more,” she concluded, genuine sympathy in her voice.

“Can you at least tell who cast it?” he asked, though he wasn’t optimistic.

“Usually I can, but not this time. It’s like it was cast through a filter of some sort. We could make our guesses at the usual suspects, but given that we still don’t know who all arrived from the Land of Untold Stories, it’s hard to say.”

Gods, he hadn’t even thought of that. Surely his brother wasn’t the only one he’d wronged there. He scrubbed a hand down his face; now he’d have to be on even higher alert.

“I can say this, though: it’s definitely yours. Well, yours and Emma’s.”

He perked at that. “How can you tell?”

“True love is practically radiating from your belly,” she chuckled. “And each kind—each person’s—has its own aura. It matches yours.”

He gave a sigh of relief; at least there was that. He cupped his belly, where the little one—their little one, gods—was again kicking.

“So, that’s really my little sister or brother?” Henry asked, suddenly at his side. 

“Aye, seems so,” Killian replied, his voice unexpectedly watery.

Henry reached toward Killian, but then paused. “Can I…?”

Again, Killian simply placed his hand in the right spot. Henry grinned at the sensation of his new little sibling pressing against him. “Wow,” he gasped. Regina subtly passed Killian a much-needed handkerchief.

(It was the worst possible time for Killian’s stomach to grumble—again—but Regina provided some snacks and sent them on their way.)

Emma unfortunately had to take care of some things at the station, but she dropped him off at the library before heading over. As nervous as Killian was to break the news to Emma’s family, and to Storybrooke at large, he was most nervous to tell Belle, especially so soon after what happened to her. Best to get it over with, though.

“Killian, is that you?” she called out at hearing the jingle of the door bell. “Over here.”

Slowly, he followed the sound of her voice to the back corner of the library. Suddenly self conscious, he pulled his overshirt around him as much as he was able, though that was likely just drawing more attention; he at least felt better about it. Perhaps he could just hold his arms in front of him? While it was a dramatic change from what he was used to, his belly truly wasn’t that large yet…

...But Belle noticed right away, nearly dropping the books she was reshelving. “Killian? Are...are you alright?”

He scratched behind his ear nervously. “I...suppose it depends on your definition of the word.”

“You didn’t overindulge on pastries, did you?” she joked, though it was halfhearted at best.

“No—well, yes, but that’s not it.” He took a deep breath; this was the first time he was actually saying it. “I’m...pregnant, apparently.”

Now she did drop the books. “But that’s impossible.”

“I thought the same thing, and yet…” He just gestured at his midsection.

“I think we need to sit down, so you can explain this to me.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

He went into the back to prepare some tea for them but then joined her at the couch they had been sitting on—gods, was that only three days ago? And he explained everything he knew.

“I have to admit, I was sitting here ready to be jealous of you, but that does not sound fun,” Belle said when he was done. “I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

“The fact that you haven’t run out of here screaming or crying is more than enough,” he assured her. “But I appreciate it.”

“Out of sheer curiosity, how much has it grown today?”

He studied the bump; it was fully visible beneath his shirt, though not straining it. “A fair bit, though not as dramatic a change as from last night to this morning.”

“I bet.” They continued to chat about baby things until his stomach complained yet again (he was growing tired of that already) and they decided to head out to lunch—“If you feel comfortable with that, at least.”

“Best to get it over with, I suppose.”

Granny’s lunch rush drew about the response he was expecting: lots of stares and a decent amount of murmuring. He felt better once they’d slipped into a booth and it was relatively hidden out of sight.

“So that’s what’s going on,” Granny said when she came over to take their order. “I had figured Emma, but this makes sense, too.”

“You don’t find it odd, or nigh-impossible?” he asked, surprised at her casualness.

“You’re talking to a werewolf, hon. If anyone thinks it’s weird, we’re in Storybrooke; they just need to wait five minutes.”

True. And she thankfully didn’t raise any eyebrows when he again ordered two entrees. (He prayed he’d be able to get out of the booth as easily as he slipped in.)

Apparently, this child loved Granny’s onion rings, because he tore through both servings. “That’s definitely Emma’s child,” Belle laughed. He couldn’t help but grin at that.

Getting back to his feet was a slight, well, feat, and the bump was definitely protruding a bit more. When they got back the library, Belle decided to conduct a bit of an experiment: “I’m going to take your picture now, and then when you leave in a few hours--just for comparison’s sake.” He had to admit, he was equally curious, and let her go ahead. 

They were taking the second picture when Emma returned. “Wow,” she said, upon seeing for the first time in several hours. “I didn’t think there’d be that much of a change.”

They huddled around Belle’s phone to compare the two shots from the afternoon; even that was noticeable. “Well, the doctor did say it was accelerated; at least we know he was right on that.”

“Speaking of, we should get going,” Emma said, pulling them all away from the images. “Don’t want to keep Frankenstein waiting.”

“Why did you have to remind me of that?” Killian griped, but followed her out nonetheless after waving a farewell to Belle.

They’d barely started their appointment when Killian began wishing they had another option for a doctor. “Woah,” Whale said after taking one look at him. “I think you took my advice on eating a bit too much to heart.”

Killian blushed and grumbled as Whale began his assessments. “Have you felt any movements yet?”

“Aye, quite a few.” 

“Did it feel like there was more than one kid in there?”

Killian was taken aback. “I...I don’t think so, but I can’t say I have anything to compare it to.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Whale agreed. “Well, some people just carry it all out in front, too.”

“Just say you think I’m fat,” Killian snapped, a sudden wave of anger overtaking him.

“It’s not that,” Whale said. “You’re just measuring ahead of where I figured you’d be. Let’s do the the ultrasound, though, to see where things are.”

Killian was more prepared for the cold gel this time, though the pressure of the wand on the underside of his belly—because it had an underside now—wasn’t the most comfortable. As always, Emma was holding his hand through all of it.

It took far less time for the image of their babe to show up on the screen this time, and they were definitely more developed than the last. “Woah, that’s—that’s farther,” was all Whale could say.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Okay, so a pregnancy typically takes 40 weeks, right? Last night, you were right around 21. At the rate things were going, I figured tonight you’d be around 25, 26.”

“And?”

“This kid is either incredibly huge, or you’re at 31 weeks.”

For the umpteenth time in the last day, Killian was speechless. Emma wasn’t as much. “So...it got faster?”

“That’s my guess. If it keeps up like this, you’ll be giving birth tomorrow night, Hook.”

He needed some more creative curses, because “bloody fucking hell” didn’t cut it this time. They weren’t ready...at all. Logistically, obviously, but mentally—absolutely not. 

“Try to take it easy for the next day or so, but I want you to come in earlier tomorrow so we can get ready for whatever happens.” Whale went on but it fell on deaf ears; Kilian's own thoughts were too jumbled to process more. 

In a day, he’d be in labor, bringing a child into the world. Twenty-four hours, or less. He knew he needed to buck up and confront this, but when he was dealing with hormones on top of his usual emotions, it was hard to focus on what he needed to. 

He’d get there, eventually—he was still a captain, it was instinct—but for the moment, he needed to let his emotions run free, lest they run him. 

“Oh, Killian,” Emma crooned, and moved to wipe his tears away. He blinked, only just realizing that they were alone. “I’m so sorry you have to deal with this.”

“Don't, love,” he sniffed. “It’s not your fault at all. Whoever did this had a sick sense of humor, though I no doubt deserve it.”

“Uh-uh—don’t even go down that path. Even if you’ve got some wrongs to right, this wasn’t the way for whoever-it-is to take care of it.” He scoffed, but she continued on. “But, here we are. So what we’re gonna do now is go have a relaxing evening with my parents, then order a ton of stuff on Amazon Prime and see how well their one-day shipping works in Storybrooke. And then we are going to eat and chill until it’s time to come back here...to have a baby.” Her hand joined his, where he’d unconsciously set it on top of his belly (something he’d noticed himself doing more often). 

“I think I can handle that,” he told her, flipping his hand over to take hers.

“You don’t have much choice, buddy.”

“I know. But it sounds much more manageable when you say it.”

“If anyone can handle this, it’s you.”

He rolled his eyes, but any protest died when her lips met his. He gladly would have intensified it were they not still in the middle of the hospital; these damn hormones had him aroused at the drop of a hat, though. (Maybe later?)

She helped him off the bed, and the change in position made it immediately clear he needed a restroom. It was beginning to feel like the babe was pressing on all sorts of his insides, which he supposed was to be expected—and would likely get worse. Well, if it was only a day, he could handle it—right?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be my favorite chapter...hope you like it, too!

It was a short drive to the Nolans’ loft, though they lingered in the Bug for a moment. “Are you nervous?” Emma wondered.

“A bit; though if I know the way this town’s gossip works, at least one of them already knows.”

“Yeah, going to Granny’s is on par with taking out an ad in the  _ Mirror _ .”

“I’m aware, but I desperately needed her onion rings.”

“Fair.”

“I’m just...nervous about how they’ll react.”

“Are you kidding? I’m pretty sure my mom has already started planning the nursery for our future children.”

“Aye, but I’m willing to bet she envisioned it...well, differently,” he said, nodding towards Emma’s midsection.

“You think she’ll care?”

He swallowed. “I’m a bit more concerned with your father, to be honest.”

“Ooh, yeah. That’s a good point.”

Rudely, though, his stomach rumbled again. “I guess that’s our cue,” he chuckled. 

They didn’t waste any more time and got out; he didn’t have any issues climbing out of the vehicle, or up the stairs inside, but he wondered if he might later. 

David greeted them at the door, and it went about as well as Killian thought it would.

“Too much rum there, Hook?” he teased, then playfully poked at the bump. Killian managed to dodge away, but David still had to ask “Just what have you guys been eating?”

“Uh, not quite.” Emma quickly pulled him aside and caught him up; his eyes grew wide when he learned the truth. 

“Seriously?”

“Would we make it up?” Killian tossed back.

“But that’s…”

“Impossible, I know. And yet, here we are.”

“Are...are you sure?”

Hoping to convince him quickly, Killian simply grabbed David’s hand and pressed it against his side, the current point of fascination for his child’s hands and/or feet. David’s jaw dropped at the sensation.

“Holy shit, you’re pregnant.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna be a grandfather again.”

“In about a day, aye.”

“Wow. Remind me not to cross whoever did that.”

“Would if I could.”

David was clearly exceeding curious about the concept of a pregnant man, but dinner was almost ready and it was about time for him to switch with Snow. At least Killian had Emma at his side in this; he certainly did not envy her parents’ situation. 

On the other hand, Snow apparently had heard, and was vibrating with glee.

“Oh my goodness; look at you!” she squealed. “I thought Granny was pulling my leg at first but—wow!”

“Aye, it’s...well, you can see,” he said awkwardly. He didn’t quite know how to handle someone reacting happily, or even vaguely normally, considering the situation was far from that.

If she noticed his discomfort, she didn’t acknowledge it as she wrapped him into a hug. It was a bit odd having something in between but she didn’t seem to care. And surprisingly, it helped him feel a little less off-kilter, a bit more grounded.

“I’m sure you’ve already heard this, but you look fantastic,” Snow assured him as she ushered him toward the dining table.

“You’re actually the first.”

“And I doubt I’ll be the last.”

He wasn’t so sure, but he appreciated it nonetheless. Snow went about finishing the dishes David had started so he slid a chair out to take his seat, but Emma evidently had a plan first.

“I want to try that thing that Belle did earlier, with taking a picture.”

“You want to see how much I eat, you mean?”

“Both?”

He sighed. “Fine.” (And he could see Snow smirking as she put food—quite a bit of it—on the table.)

He considered himself to typically have a healthy appetite, without going to any excess; but the last few days had seen him probably triple his food consumption, if not more. There was some truth to the fact that growing a child, especially in such a short time frame, was demanding; but he was also aware of other changes in his body that didn’t seem to have quite as much to do with childbearing. 

And yet—he was still famished. It felt like he’d eaten half of the casserole, along with a decent amount of mashed potatoes and green beans (at least those were relatively healthy). He tried to apologize for his ravenous mood (while eating a second slice of pie) but Snow waved him off. “It means I can spend less time cleaning dishes and more time cleaning this one,” nodding at Neal, who somehow ended up with mashed potatoes in his hair. 

He let Emma take away his dishes as he leaned back in his chair. He couldn’t quite tell from where he was seated if much change had happened, but he felt full for the first time all day. He thought back to Emma’s food baby comment the other night, and how eerily prophetic it was. That said, the real baby was playing a game of football with his bladder, which would demand attention sooner rather than later. 

Which meant standing up. Right. He scooted the chair backwards, which drew the attention of both Emma and Snow, who moved to help. But he shook his head at them; he wanted to go without assistance while he could. (Tomorrow might be another story.)

It didn’t take too much more effort to rise, but he definitely noticed a lower shift in his center of gravity. And his shirt was starting to reach its limits (not that it was very elastic to begin with). But it was Emma’s low whistle and Snow’s “woah” that really drew his concern. 

“That much?” he had to ask; he was standing in profile to them so they probably had a better view. 

Emma just pulled out her phone and he waited patiently as she took another picture. Then, like earlier, she came over to compare. “So that’s before dinner,” she showed, then swiped to the next image, “and that’s now.”

“Damn,” he cursed—there was definitely a growth spurt. Where before dinner, his belly had been almost pointed, his navel the apex, it was now fully round, a perfect hemisphere protruding from his midsection. With as much of his torso as it was taking up, it was hard to believe there was still more to go. 

“Oh no, you’re definitely not done,” Snow replied when he voiced his thoughts. “Can you see your feet?”

He had to tilt a bit awkwardly but “Yes.”

“Yeah, then you’ve still got a ways to go. Just wait until your belly drops.”

“That sounds painful.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “It’s not that bad, and it’s only right at the end. So it won’t last long for you.”

“Small blessings, I suppose.”

(He also appreciated that he only had to deal with the awkwardness of using the toilet in this state for a short period of time.)

Snow sent them home with an abundance of leftovers (which he found himself nibbling on as Emma drove home) as well as a number of things Neal had outgrown or never used, and one of David’s larger shirts to get him through the next day. And then they settled on their sofa with the laptop to purchase essentials. 

“First: diapers.” He cringed at the thought. “Then: bottles and formula.”

That was the first time he realized: though this spell had him carrying a child, it was not preparing him to care for them after. “I suppose I’m glad that’s not part of the spell,” he commented, studying his relatively unchanged chest. “Although I feel mildly offended that I’m merely the incubator.”

“Eh, you’ve got enough going on with a week-long pregnancy. If it spares you that, don’t complain.”

“Is it that bad?”

“To be fair, I wasn’t actually fulfilling their purpose, but when my milk came in after Henry was born, it just...hurt.” He could tell she meant emotional pain as much as physical. So he scooted closer to pull her into his side; he wasn’t sure what other gestures of affection he could manage but that was unchanged. 

She curled into him and went back to scrolling Amazon. His vision started to go fuzzy when she was looking at nautical crib sheets, and the next thing he knew, the lights were off and she was whispering his name.

“Did you have a good nap?”

The saliva he had to wipe off his face indicated it was, although the odd angle of his neck said otherwise. He replied with a grunt that could mean either.

She just laughed and held her hands out. “Come on; let’s get you to bed.”

He tried to stand on his own, but in his foggy state, forgot about the weight about his midsection and flopped back down. He could tell Emma was biting back a laugh as he conceded and took her hands. It didn’t take much effort to help him to his feet, but he wasn’t sure how long that would be the case.

Truly, the day was catching up with him. His back was sore, as were his hips, and the muscles of his abdomen were feeling the strain of their rapid expansion. He had no idea how women did this for so long, though he had to assume that on a normal timeline, the body was more able to adapt. Hell, he almost envied how quick Belle’s had gone through these stages; his situation felt like the perfect storm, in a way, of discomfort.

One more day. He could do this.

Their plush mattress was calling his name when he exited the bathroom, clad per usual in his flannel pants (that were snugly sitting low on his hips) but sans shirt. He expected Emma to be similarly dressed for bed, but no—she was laying on her side expectantly, in the black lace lingerie she knew he loved.

Almost immediately, he felt the stirrings of arousal—and confusion. “You can’t be serious, love.”

“Oh yes I can.” Smoothly, she sat up and shuffled on her knees to the edge of the mattress, where he was standing. “I know you may not feel much like it, but I’ve gotta say: you are definitely the sexiest pregnant person I’ve ever seen, and that bump is making you even more irresistible than usual.” 

Any protest he could give died on his lips when she began to caress his belly; it shouldn’t have been so intimate—that was literally their child in there—but oh, it felt so good. He let out a ragged breath when her hand wandered dangerously near his groin.

She leaned in and whispered, “Let me make you feel good,” and he could hardly say no.

Making love with that extra heft was...unique, to put it mildly; he had assumed Emma would want to stick with oral pleasures, but when she demanded that he come inside her, he was both surprised and surprisingly eager to try it. It was awkward and there were many giggles, and he didn’t last anywhere near as long as usual, but it was definitely an experience he wouldn’t forget.

Nor would he fail to recall the purest feeling of love that surrounded him as he drifted off to sleep, Emma at his back with her arms wrapped around him, their hands joined over the spot where the babe was kicking gently. At the very least, he could say this situation had given some blissful memories like these.

The next morning started similarly, despite the babe’s growth overnight. Where last night, he had been on top, Emma wouldn’t let him rise until she’d taken her pleasure this morning. Which was quite alright with him; he sensed it would be even more difficult to stand today than it had been yesterday.

Though his belly had yet to “drop”, whatever that meant, it was definitely continuing its outward expansion. The marvelous jeans Emma had fashioned still fit like a glove, and the way the elastic hugged his spherical form was rather comforting. David’s shirt just fit, and while it had more give than Killan’s from the day prior, he had a feeling he’d be testing its limits by the end of the day.

Honestly, going downstairs was the scariest thing he’d encountered yet; he had to brace himself against his lower back to avoid the feeling of falling forward as he descended. Perhaps he should stay downstairs the rest of the day.

“Hold up! Picture time!” Emma shouted from where she’d been working at the stove. He chuckled and shook his head, but obliged, standing in profile against the wall in their living room. “Okay, now you can eat.” His hungry stomach voiced its approval.

Though it was far from dignified, he plopped into his chair at the dining table, where Emma already had a massive breakfast waiting for him. He wasn’t sure how he had any room left inside that wasn’t baby, but he managed to inhale it like he had every meal. And it seemed the babe enjoyed it, too; the movements coming from within his stomach were positively alien. It was simultaneously the most interesting and strange thing he’d ever seen—at least, until they kicked him in the ribs. Emma refused his offer to do the dishes, so he continued to sit and watch until the babe evidently tired themself out.

A nap was sounding like a good idea, even if he’d only been awake for an hour, but then he felt a sensation as odd as the baby’s gymnastics: a mild clenching under the skin of his belly. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t a great feeling either. 

Was that...was that a contraction?

“Emma,” he said, a bit unsteadily.

“What’s wrong?” She was at his side in a blink.

“What does a contraction feel like?”

“Pain. Like, pure pain. Why, are you having them?”

“I don’t know, but it didn’t feel great.”

“Okay, it was probably just a practice contraction, then. Trust me—you’ll know when it’s the real thing.”

“How?”

“I’ll be able to tell you because you’ll be cursing up a storm.”

He laughed; she knew him well.

“But with the way things are, that’s all the more reason to take it extra easy today. C’mon, let’s get you set up on the couch.”

Again, she had to help him to his feet; again, he felt a shift in his weight. Her eyes went straight to his belly. “Bigger?”

“Yeah; damn. I figured it’d have to even out at some point; you’re the same size I was when Henry was born.”

“I’m also taller than you, love. Or perhaps Whale was right and this child is larger than typical.”

“That’s true; they are going to be full of sass when they come out.”

“Oy!”

“Just let me take your picture again.”

He complied and then started to move to the couch, though he definitely couldn’t walk with his normal stride. He didn’t dare call it a waddle, but it was resembling a shuffle. Just the short trek from the kitchen to the couch was enough to wear him out, and he had never been so happy to fall against the cushions and put his feet up.

A knock at the door indicated the arrival of (many) Amazon packages. “Do you need anything while I take all that upstairs?” she asked.

“Um...the brown sugar Pop-Tarts?” he asked sheepishly.

“Definitely my kid,” she laughed as she brought him the box.

Some foreign instinct in him was wishing he could help organize the nursery (what little it was), but his back ached at the thought. And he knew he’d be up to visit the restroom shortly, so he should probably save his energy for that.

Belle called then, so he gave her an update; she was understandably concerned but sent her love. He thought about asking her to come for moral support but he was also afraid it might be too soon. There was one thing, though; he hadn’t talked to Emma, but she knew she’d agree. “Would you do us the honor of being godmother?”

The other end of the phone was silent for a moment, but then she answered in a watery voice, “The honor would be all mine.”

He evidently drifted off after that, because he was awoken to Emma’s giggling from behind her phone. His dry mouth told him he’d been snoring and he could feel the babe moving around under his hand—and pressing on his bladder. 

But that wasn’t all that had awoken him—he could also feel the dissipating sensation of another practice contraction. Annoying, but a good sign, he figured. 

“Documenting everything, love?” he mildly complained while beginning the process of moving to stand. 

“Well, yeah. Do you really think you’ll ever be pregnant again?”

“I bloody hope not,” he tossed back, shifting forward in the deep cushion to get his feet beneath him. “Document away, then, I suppose,” he allowed, then groaned as he rose to standing. 

Again, his hand flew to his back for support; there was yet more weight in his belly, though weirdly, it didn’t look as large—at least, not from this angle. 

“They dropped,” Emma gasped. 

Now that he was vertical, he could tell the weight was settling less in front of him and more on his pelvis—not pressure, per se, but definitely a heaviness that wasn’t there before. 

Now it was his turn to demand a picture, with which Emma gladly complied (and his bladder didn’t complain for the short sidetrack). Where earlier that day, his belly had been perfectly round and proudly high, now it was vaguely more teardrop shaped—still jutting out from his midsection, just the weight of it pulled down. 

It didn’t feel that bad. Perhaps Emma and Snow had been overly dramatic?

Then he started to move to the bathroom, though, and that weight pressing on his pelvis was not at all comfortable. It changed his gait even more—this was definitely a waddle now. Bloody hell, waddling. (And the usual issues in the restroom, just with more in the way.)

At least it was just a few more hours. He could do it. Though it felt amazing to flop back on the sofa next to Emma. 

“Feel better?” she asked, curling into his side. 

“As well as I can. How much longer do you think it’ll be?”

“Well, I’m no mathematician, but based on that drop...no more than a few hours.”

A vague sense of impending doom settled over Killian. Sure, he’d managed okay so far, but birth...that was a whole other story. 

Though with weird movements coming from inside him suggested the child might punch or kick their way out. 

“It’s creepy, isn’t it?” she said, watching their babe’s wriggling. 

“I guess that’s one way to put it. I hope they’re not as wiggly on the outside.”

“Oh, they will be.” Gently, Emma pressed a finger against what he thought was a foot pushing out high on his belly. Amazingly, it pressed back, and they engaged in a bit of back and forth until the child evidently decided his kidneys were more interesting. 

“Oh my god!” Emma exclaimed out of nowhere. “We haven’t even discussed names!”

Killian blinked; she was right. He hadn’t even given it a passing thought, so focused as he was on just getting through this. 

“If it’s a boy, do you want to name him Liam?” Emma asked. 

“There was a time I would have said yes, but…” After the underworld, he realized he’d placed his brother too high up on a pedestal—far higher than anyone should have been. He loved him, of course, but he didn’t want to saddle a child with the complicated emotions that might carry. Emma understood. “It’s fine for a middle name though. What about naming him for your father?”

She shrugged. “Same thing, though. And do you really want a Davy Jones running around?”

He laughed. “Fair point. Hmm...what about Charles?”

“Like...like the name I made up for you in the past?”

“Aye.”

“Charles Liam Jones...that could work. But what if it’s a girl? I’m not naming her Hope or some cheesy shit my mom would come up with.”

He chuckled again. “No, I agree. But perhaps she’d be appeased by Margaret as a middle name?”

“She might die of happiness. Does that mean you like Leia for a first name, if we’re sticking with a theme here?”

“I do like it; I seem to recall her namesake being quite fierce too.”

“Yeah, I like it.” She laid her head on his shoulder, the conversation seemingly over, but then quietly asked, “what was your mom’s name?”

“Alice,” he replied. Gods, he hadn’t said her name aloud in decades. 

“What was she like?”

“Lovely.” His memories of her were fuzzy at best, given how young he was when she died, but he could clearly recall her sharp blue eyes, auburn hair, and how he always felt safest in her arms. 

“I like that name, too. Unless you’ve got the same worries there.”

“No; it’s...different, with her. But I’d still like our child to have their own name; build their own legacy.”

She smiled. “You’re gonna be such a great dad.”

“At least one of us is confident.”

“Come on—you’re amazing with Henry, and I’ve seen you with my brother, too. You’ll be amazing. And we’re in this together; we’ll both have stuff to figure out, but we will. It’ll be fine,” she concluded, then reached up to brush away the tears he didn’t realize were falling. 

He sniffled then sighed. “I wish your mum was rubbing off on me the way she clearly has on you.”

She laughed. “That was dangerously close to a hope speech, wasn’t it?”

For the next while, they just stayed close and enjoyed the last few moments of it being the two of them. “You don’t...resent this, do you?” he wondered.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that this wasn’t exactly in the plan. Not that we really had one, I suppose, but...we’ve only just begun to cohabitate. Call me old fashioned, but there were certain other milestones I wanted to reach before we broached the subject of children.”

“Is this your weird way of asking for my hand?”

“Darling, you know I am far too much of a gentleman to do that without any pomp. Besides, I can hardly get on one knee right now.” (However, there was a ring waiting, tucked safely away.)

She giggled, but then said, “I guess I would have liked more time as just us, but honestly, it’s more anger toward myself for holding out on you so long. We should have done this ages ago—the moving-in thing.”

“It’s hardly your fault that our lives are unpredictable; don’t beat yourself up.”

“Then the same goes here: this wasn’t our decision. And while I might resent that aspect of it, I don’t resent that we’re getting this opportunity together...given that I still don’t know what my future holds.”

“We’ll figure it out, love—you know we will.”

“I know. I just don’t want to leave you—both of you—behind.”

“You won’t.”

“Now who’s sounding optimistic?”

He chuckled, but it turned into a frown as another false contraction took hold. “Those are rather annoying.”

“Yeah, they are. But I think that’s a sign we should start heading out.”

He huffed. “Aye, probably. But…”

“But what?”

“Do you think we could stop for some onion rings first?”

She grinned. “Duh.”

She helped him to his feet, where—yet again—he could feel a change, as if everything in his midsection was pulling toward the earth. Maybe they shouldn’t stop for food; David’s shirt seemed to be nearing capacity. But the rumble in his stomach said otherwise. (Goodness, he couldn’t wait for that aspect of this to go away.)

After another awkward trip to the bathroom, they headed out (she walked, he waddled), making sure to bring a bag with fresh clothes for him as well as the babe. And thank bloody hell Emma was driving. 

To his surprise, there was already an infant seat in the back. “When did that get there?”

“My dad installed it this morning. At, like, 3 am.”

“Typical,” he laughed. 

“You look like you’re about to pop!” Granny shouted once he finished the small challenge that was her stairs. 

“I certainly feel like it.”

“I’m scared to feed you, lest you do.”

“It’s unwise to tease a man like that,” he warned, gesturing with his hook (and a wink).

The mountain of onion rings she presented him with was gone in a flash; he was tempted to order more, but Emma recommended that he didn’t; “Let’s just say I lost more than my lunch during labor.”

David and Neal were entering the diner as they left; the prince was appropriately enthusiastic about seeing them, though Killian didn’t miss the way his eyes went wide at just how much his shirt had stretched out (even more after that last meal; “round with child” was definitely an apt description of him now)—and wished them luck and love as they went on their way. 

“You ready to have a baby?” Emma asked after she parked outside the hospital. 

“As I’ll ever be. But only because you’re with me.”

They shared an awkward yet somehow perfect kiss over the center console, before she helped him out of the car and they went in. He knew when they came out that their lives would be irrevocably different. 

—————————

One of the clever things about this spell, Rumpelstiltskin had to admit, was the way it let the caster see just where the pregnancy was. It was what had let him speed it up; he could have slowed it, too, but where was the fun in that?

It didn’t allow for any modifications once labor began, and it had a way of indicating how much time was left until it did. 

The Dark One eagerly watched the counter tick down, until the very last second before no change could be made; through the orb, he could see the pirate wriggling in discomfort, with all that weight about his middle and the child inside no doubt pressing on organs. 

He regretted that he’d never been there for either of his wives when they were in such a state; Milah had written to him of her displeasure, and Belle—well, she hadn’t had the chance. But Hook? Oh, he was going to be very familiar with it. 

Because at the last possible second, Rumple paused the spell. 

He’d resume it, eventually...whenever an appropriately terrible opportunity presented itself. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter is a bit more feelsy than actiony, but hope you still like it!! (action will be back on the next chapter--hopefully on Monday!)

“Huh.”

Though this hadn’t been a lengthy experience, Killian knew that when Doctor Whale was flummoxed, it wasn’t good. “Care to explain?”

Whale didn’t answer at first; just took another look at Killian’s undercarriage and then glanced at the various monitors he’d been hooked up to when they arrived a couple hours ago. 

“Whale?”

“Sorry, sorry,” the doctor stammered. “Just trying to make sense of this.”

“Trying to make sense of a man giving birth?”

“Well, that’s just the thing—you’re not.”

“Pardon?” One look at Killian’s swollen midsection said otherwise. 

“When is the last time you had a Braxton-Hicks?”

“In the parking lot, right?” Emma supplied. 

“Aye, a few hours ago.”

“Yeah, that’s...huh.”

“And what the bloody hell does that mean?” Killian was growing impatient—and worried. The only calm was that he could still feel his child moving about, even if they were running low on space. 

“It’s like...everything stopped,” Whale said. “By all rights, you should be in active labor now. You’re dilated a couple centimeters. The baby is in position. But everything is in a standstill.”

“Is his body just not capable of it?” Emma wondered. 

“He wouldn’t have made it this far if he wasn’t; the spell took care of that. It’s like someone hit a pause button on everything.”

“Then how do we hit play?”

“That, I don't know. I mean, you’re not at risk for any complications, and the baby isn’t in distress so there’s not much there to be worried about. It might yet start on its own. There’s a few things you can try to get it going, and we could try medically inducing, too, but I think that would be a last resort. Honestly, we might need to call Regina. I’m lost.”

Bloody hell; just when he’d thought there was an end in sight here, there suddenly...wasn’t. What the hell kind of curse was this?

“I’d like to keep you here for a few more hours, just to see if anything happens,” Whale continued. “I think I will try to see if Regina can come down, too, just to make sure all our bases are covered.”

“Let me do it,” Emma interjected. “Something tells me she’ll be more likely to answer my call.”

“Fair point. So you, Captain—hang tight.”

“Actually, I was going to use the restroom, if I’m not needed elsewhere,” Killian sniped. “Just because they’re not coming out doesn’t mean they’re not still resting on my bladder.”

“Oh! Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Killian grumbled as he pulled himself out of those beastly stirrups, undid the handful of wires attached to him, and slowly slid himself off the bed. He realized belatedly that climbing back up would not be as easy, but nature was quickly calling and he had to put all his focus on waddling to the bathroom. 

On the bright side, a hospital gown was much easier to maneuver than a too-tight shirt and maternity jeans. On the other, there was still a large protrusion making it difficult to access the parts necessary for relieving himself. If only for that, he hoped things started moving. 

Emma was on the phone when he (finally) emerged. “Alright; see you soon,” she farewelled, then turned her attention back to him. “Regina will be here in a bit. But she’s already confused, too.”

“Lovely,” he complained, then leaned against the side of the bed, next to where Emma was standing. He petulantly crossed his arms, pouting, but the effect was probably lost a bit when his arms were stuck at chest height. 

“Hey, maybe she’ll be able to tell us what’s happening.”

“And if not?”

“Then we take it one day at a time.”

He sighed; he was an infinitely patient man—but this was testing him. 

“Come here,” Emma told him, then wrapped her arms as tight around him as they’d go; he buried his neck in hers and took comfort in her presence. Perhaps if he hugged her hard enough, all their problems would disappear...he could try, at least. 

But not at the moment, because a sharp voice interrupted their moment. “Wow; that really was fast.”

Regina had appeared in the room, and was quite amused by his appearance; her eyes were glued to his belly. 

“I mean, obviously, I’ve seen faster, but—damn. Especially for you, Hook.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Please—you're probably the most vain guy I know. I’m sure this is doing a number on your pride.”

“I have no qualms with the actual concept. My only issue is my lack of choice in the matter, and whatever the hell is going on right now—or better yet, isn’t.”

Regina arched an eyebrow in amusement but nodded. “Alright; let’s see what we can figure out on that end.”

She spent nearly as long waving a hand over him and furrowing her brow as she did the other morning; he didn’t have high hopes for a different conclusion than she arrived at then. 

Though apparently her magic tickled the babe, who began moving in varying strange contortions in response. He curled in a bit and pressed a hand to his side to brace against the movements, but it didn’t help much, especially when the baby hit a rib, making him wince. 

“Are we finally getting somewhere?” Whale returned then and immediately noticed Killian’s expression; he cursed when Killian shook his head. 

“No; it’s weird—it’s like whatever was accelerating things just ran out,” Regina said, then gave up her assessment (though the child did not cease their gymnastics). “I’ve been doing research but I still haven’t found any leads in figuring out just what this spell is. All I can tell is it’s still there, it’s just not moving.”

“Like, it’s in stasis?” Whale asked. 

“Yeah, that’s probably the best way to put it. I just don’t know why.”

“My torment, obviously,” Killian drawled, rubbing at the now-sore muscle on his side where the babe had finally given up their assault. 

“I mean...it could be,” she admitted. “It’d be clever if it was.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it.”

“I think we both know a good spot of revenge when we see it,” she threw back, reformed villain-to-reformed villain. 

True. He just hoped his child wasn’t the one to pay the price of this vengeance. “So what can we do, then?” he asked, trying to focus on more productive thoughts. 

“Well, Emma or I could try to break through it and see if it’ll move forward, but that certainly has its risks.”

“Let’s move that one further down the list of options,” Whale suggested. “For now, why don’t you chill here for a bit more, just to be safe, and we’ll take another look in a few hours. If there’s no change, we’ll work out a plan then.”

“There is one thing I can tell,” Regina added. “Labor will progress at roughly the same speed the pregnancy did; that’s standard for all spells like this.”

“Unless they stop it again,” Killian grumbled.

“They can’t. It’s one of those weird rules of magic: once labor has started, you can’t change it. Ease pain, maybe, but once it’s going, it’s going. But if the speed of the pregnancy has been altered, that will carry over.”

“At least it won’t be long, then,” Emma offered hopefully. 

“No, but that means you won’t have much time to get here,” Whale informed. “That actually does worry me; you’re going to want to get here within 5 minutes or so of labor starting for us to be able to take care of you. Otherwise, you’re on your own.”

“So he needs to stay within poofing range?” Emma asked. 

Regina muttered about Emma’s terminology, but Whale confirmed that was the best option. 

“Well, that shouldn’t be too much of an issue; it’s not like I’m gonna wander too far from him any time soon. At most, I’d be a phone call away.”

“You can call me too, if you need to,” Regina offered. “Worst-case scenario, I know, but I’m here.”

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. It was rare she was genuinely helpful and he wasn’t about to let that go unacknowledged. 

“Well, that sounds like a good start to a plan,” Whale said. “Let’s give it a bit here to see what happens, but I have a feeling you’ll be sleeping in your own bed tonight.” 

Killian nodded, though far from enthusiastically. Whale left the room, and Regina went off to consult with Belle in case she might have access to anything Regina didn’t regarding the spell. Which left him and Emma alone again. 

He groaned and wrapped himself around her again, awkward as it was with his large bump. He longed to press himself closer to her, but when he tried, it forced her to take a step back. Which made him groan again. 

“It’s gonna be fine,” she told him, though he could hear the laughter in her tone at his melodramatics. He wasn’t typically one to whinge but he figured he’d be forgiven for this one moment. Though if this went on much longer, he’d need to watch it, lest he wore on the sympathies of those around him. “I know it might not feel like it now, but you can handle this. Your belly only dropped, what, seven hours ago?”

“Something like that.”

“Yeah, I went two weeks with Henry. And our mattress is way better.”

He sighed; he truly wasn’t in a position to warrant such complaints. “I know, love. I’m just...readjusting, and apparently I can’t do it as easily as I usually can.”

“And no one would blame you. You usually don’t have a whole other person attached to you. But you’re still the legendary Captain Hook; are you really gonna let this slow you down?”

“You’ve seen the way I walk, Swan.”

“Okay, poor choice of words. What I mean is: I can’t think of anyone more suited to weather this.”

Her words of confidence—plus the soothing way she was rubbing his back—had their intended effect, and he stood up straight. “Aye, you’re right. Just...give me a moment to brood over it; you’ve said I’m quite good at that, too.”

She chuckled. “That you are. How about I give you a few minutes for that while I go get a snack? I’ve gotta imagine you’re starved.”

It suddenly struck him that for the first time in days, that wasn’t true. “Amazingly, I’m not; I suppose that in itself should have been a sign that things had stopped moving. Just a piece of fruit or something small would be good.”

“Will do.” She leaned in (farther than normal) to give him a kiss. “Be back soon.” And then she left him alone to his thoughts. 

Except he wasn’t truly alone, was he? Even under the loose gown, he could see the baby moving about—nothing so dramatic as what they’d been up to yesterday but still plenty of motion, though perhaps directed more internally. 

“I suppose we’re stuck together a bit longer, eh, little one?” he said aloud. He normally found it odd to talk to himself—but then again, he wasn’t, not really. “Hope you don’t mind. I’m sure it’s not the most picturesque of sights in there—gods only know what my liver looks like—but with any luck, you'll have a change of scenery soon.” 

He was suddenly filled with the overwhelming desire to cradle them as best he could; he wrapped his blunted left arm around the bottom of his belly (hook and brace had stayed in the car under the assumption that it wasn’t a good idea to combine sharp points and childbirth), his right arm around the middle, and gently squeezed; hopefully, it felt as comforting for the babe as it did for himself. 

“Even though you were completely unexpected, and aren’t here by anyone’s choice, I have to admit...I’m quite eager to meet you, darling. I can’t say I’m prepared at all, nor that I’ll be any sort of expert. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life and I’m surely not done. But I promise you this now: I will do my damnedest to be the father you deserve.” Thankfully, no one was around to witness how watery he got on that last statement. 

Or so he thought; his ensuing sniffle had an echo, and he looked up to see Emma in the doorway, equally teary. 

“How much of that did you hear?” he asked quietly. 

“Enough to get me worked up, apparently,” she answered, coming to his side. “I just wanted a picture, not an emotional tidal wave,” she joked. 

“Did you?”

“I got both.” She showed him the photo she snapped; it was appropriately intimate. “And I need you to know that I feel the same way. I’m nervous as hell but I also can’t wait to meet them—and to do it all with you.”

He gave her the teariest kiss he’d ever bestowed on anyone at that. 

A couple hours (and one banana) later, Whale returned. Killian had somehow managed to get back on the bed, weariness finally winning out, but sat up on the doctor’s return. 

“Nothing, then?” he asked. 

“Negative,” Killian answered, while Emma threw in a “nada.”

Whale sighed. “Yeah, you may as well head home, then. Just remember what we talked about earlier—first sign of labor, you magic yourselves over here.”

“We will,” Emma confirmed. 

“Earlier, you’d mentioned things we could try to get it going,” Killian enquired. “What are our options?”

“Oh, there’s lots; I printed off some stuff here,” he started, handing over a packet of information. Killian didn’t have the energy to read it tonight. “The most common ones are eating spicy food, drinking raspberry tea, walking, and intercourse.”

Killian’s eyebrows flew to his hairline. “Beg your pardon?”

Whale was clinical in his explanation. “Yeah, that kind of exercise and release will get things going—although I’m not entirely sure how it would work in your situation.” 

“Oh, we’re familiar,” Emma said, although bashfully and making every effort not to meet the doctor’s eyes. “I guess I should be offended it didn’t work this morning?” she said more quietly in Killian’s ear. 

“For your sake, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that and keep going,” Whale continued. “So, try those things, but don’t overdo it. And keep an eye on how much you’re consuming, Captain.”

“It would appear as though my appetite has already gone back to normal, so I don’t think you’ll have much concern there.”

“Actually, you’ll want to up it a bit compared to what you’re used to. I know it’s cliche, but you’re eating for two; even if everything is in stasis, your baby is still getting all its nutrition through you. So maybe an extra sandwich or something per day—not a ton, just enough to keep you both going.”

“Understood.”

“And I guess that’s it, though I would like you to come back in a few days, just to check on things, if I don’t see you before then. Sound good?”

“Sure,” they both said. 

“Alright. ‘Til next time,” he farewelled. 

They said their goodbyes and then went about packing up (and, for Killian, putting his clothes back on; at least his boxer briefs still fit fine). Killian eyed the wheelchairs with a bit of envy as they made their way out, until he remembered what Whale had said about walking, and picked up his pace. 

The only effect it seemed to have, though, was that he was out of breath by the time they got to the car. 

“I guess no one told you that the kid is pressing on your lungs, too, huh?” Emma teased as she came up behind him. 

“I think I figured it out on my own,” he said through panted breaths. Once again, he was thankful for this realm’s mechanical methods of transportation. Although he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the seatbelt—but Emma insisted he wear it. 

It apparently wasn’t much of a bother because he was half asleep by the time the car stopped. “Do you feel like going to see whichever of my parents is awake?” she asked when he roused. 

He wasn’t opposed to the idea but… “The bloody stairs,” he grumbled groggily. 

She chuckled. “Alright; I’ll be right back.” She placed a peck on his cheek before leaving, and he drifted off again—only to jolt awake at the slam of the door on her return. “Good nap?” 

“Aye; can’t complain. Good visit?”

“Yeah. My mom was the one up, which was good. She hooked us up.”

His confused expression asked the question for him. 

“She lent us a bunch of stuff for us to use over the next however-long—more of my dad’s shirts for you, some more baby stuff, oh! And this.” She rummaged from a bag in the back seat before tossing a piece of fabric onto (what was left of) his lap.

“What is it?” He picked it up; it was thick, but appeared elastic, and was one loop, but did have a section of that Velcro stuff. 

“It’s a belly band. It’ll help you with back pain and stuff, especially with the kid sitting so low.”

He tilted his head to look at it from another angle. “But where does it go?”

“It’s like a belt, basically. My mom swears by it—said it helped her a ton with Neal. And he was not small.”

It looked rather utilitarian; at least the less attractive parts of his jeans were covered by a shirt. He wasn’t so sure about this one. “I appreciate the thought, but we’ll see.”

He didn’t miss the knowing eyeroll she gave as she started the Bug. He was sure he’d be fine, though. 

Right?

However, after two days of trying to pull up his belly manually to relieve the pressure and weight, he put it on for the first time and...he agreed with Snow: it was a lifesaver. 

Blessedly, Emma said nothing, though she definitely saw it’s outline through David’s (snug) shirt. 

And so, armed with that bit of fabric and the support of his loved ones, he carried on, ready to carry this babe for as long as it took. 

But hopefully not too long. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously could not wait to post this chapter <3 hope you all like it! (and check my tumblr later for some related manips :D )

**_One month later_ **

Killian blearily blinked his eyes open on the thirty-ninth day since he’d found out he was expecting. And like the vast majority of those mornings, he was awoken not by the sun—though it had definitely risen—but by the sensation of a tiny fist using his bladder as a punching bag. Which meant he had only a few minutes to make it to the bathroom; it usually took him that long to get out of bed.

He cast aside the frankly obscene number of pillows he’d taken to propping himself up with and pressed himself up sideways to sitting. Then he paused for a second there, taking some deep breaths, and feeling the little one move around under his palm. “Here we go, love. Another day,” he said to his mostly unchanged bump. “Shall we?”

The top of his belly pressed up as what he’d come to identify as a foot pushed against it, as if giving the okay to forge ahead. He took another breath, to build himself up, then wrapped his arms around the bottom of his belly as he shifted forward to stand. 

As soon as he was fully risen, he shifted his right arm to his lower back to help brace as he began his shuffle to the bathroom. Though the baby’s head was still resting right on his pelvis, he’d at least gotten used to his adjusted gait and could move faster than he did when his belly first dropped. He could feel a bit of cool air on the underside of his stomach, where his shirt and pajama bottoms failed to meet, but given the fact he was generally running warmer than usual (and he already ran warm—at least, according to Emma), it was a bit of a balm on his semi-permanent flush. (He was quite grateful that he was dealing with this during the cooling fall temperatures, and not the humid summer they’d had.) 

After relieving himself, he went about what had become his usual morning routine: shower, making sure to apply lotion that was supposed to help with stretch marks (though that might be a losing battle); trim his stubble, which had been growing somewhat out of control—and he’d gotten too hot the week he let it fill in to a full beard; pull on his pants without falling over; breathe a sigh of relief once he attached the belly band; and slip one of David’s shirts over it all.

Despite the lack of change, he still looked himself over in their floor-length mirror each morn to see if there was any. And, if he was being honest, he was trying to memorize the way this all looked and felt; considering there was no way of knowing when he’d finally go into labor, each morning could be the last that he bore this extra weight.

From the front, other than the odd hemline of his shirt, it didn’t look like much had changed—his hips were a bit wider, his chest softer, but if one were to see him from the back, they wouldn’t know that anything had changed. (He’d had one such encounter with Zelena; he had no idea what she wanted from him that day because she’d dissolved into a laughing fit and never recovered.)

But then he turned to the side. Whale had been correct in his statement that Killian carried it all out in front of him: from his pecs to his hips was all baby, a dome that extended out several inches from his midsection. He’d nearly forgotten what it was like to have a flat stomach, and he supposed he might not ever again. Quite often, he’d trace the surface of his belly with his hand, from where it started, over its apex, to where it curved back to his groin. He wasn’t often one for pride, but he did feel fairly accomplished at the fact that he had grown and was maintaining such an impressive space for his babe to grow (or, at least, be comfortable). 

The more he’d gotten used to it, the less overwhelming it felt—much like a traditional pregnancy would, he imagined, despite its overlarge size. Whale had indeed said the baby was measuring on the high end of the scale in both length and weight. Killian had briefly worried that would lead to complications during birth, but the doctor said his impressive core strength would make both birth and recovery easier (If he ever got there); apparently, his body was made to handle it—or, at least, the spell had made sure of it.

He still struggled quite often with the knowledge that this was something that had been done to him without consent; there was a terrible cruelty there. It had no effect on his love for his child—the babe had no hand in her making—but that aspect of it all still stung.

Oh, right— _ her _ . He was carrying a wee lass, sure to be as beautiful and feisty as her mother. When Whale had told them he could find out the gender at an appointment a few weeks ago, Killian was astonished—first that such technology existed, and next that they hadn’t been told of it sooner. He cried when the doctor said “It’s a girl”; he would have no matter what (it didn’t take much to set him off) but just knowing was wonderful. They hadn’t decided whether to call her Leia or Alice (Emma had become quite enamoured with the latter, even if Killian found the movie bearing it to be an awful representation of Wonderland) but it had at least been narrowed down.

And she was clearly ready to get a move on, based on the rolling he could see and feel going on inside. He wrapped his arms around the bump and gently squeezed; the light pressure it gave was comforting to him, and hopefully to her as well. “Alright, lass; let’s see what adventures we’ll have today.”

The first (and last) was always the stairs, but he liked to think he’d mastered them by now. However, by the time he got to the bottom, the babe had shifted and was somehow pressing on the most painful part of his pelvis—which varied day by day, and she always seemed to find it.

So for all the things he was handling well, there were just as many he was not. Just because he had adapted didn’t mean he enjoyed it.

Emma was already bustling around the kitchen when he joined her, and he winced at the creaking sound his chair made when he plopped down onto it; surely that would give out sooner rather than later, the only blessing being that he didn’t sit in it much outside of meal times. It was less forgiving than the upholstery of their sofa and he had to sit with his legs spread to have any semblance of comfort, letting his belly rest in the space between them.

“Sleep okay?” Emma asked, though her own voice sounded tired.

“As well as can be expected,” he said. “What about you, love?” He was fairly certain he knew the answer, though. 

“Eh,” she shrugged. “I’ve had better nights.”

“It wasn’t due to our...activities, was it?” he asked in as salacious a tone he could muster. They’d been sure to do all the things the doctor recommended to get labor going—he could smell the habaneros in the eggs Emma was cooking, and the raspberry tea in the kettle—including lovemaking, as often as he felt up to the task. (Frankly, it wasn’t as often as he would like, but he’d managed to hold out through a couple rounds last night. And Emma was as enthusiastic a lover as ever, despite the bumps—literally—they encountered.)

“No; I think that had the opposite effect, actually,” she grinned back, but it fell. “I had another nightmare thing again.”

His heart dropped. Those “nightmare things”—otherwise known as visions of her demise—had been occurring with increasing frequency the last couple of weeks. “You should have woke me, Emma.”

“You need your rest,” she countered, focusing much harder than was necessary on the stove. 

“We both know I’ll likely nap through the afternoon no matter what. You don’t have to deal with that alone.”

“But I kind of do,” she threw back. “They’re only happening to me. It’s only me in them. I’m the only one getting murdered. And I don’t know how else to handle it.” She dropped the spatula and he could see the way her hand was shaking. 

Faster than he’d moved in weeks, he was up and at her side, taking her hand in his. “I wish I could lift this burden from you, my love. But I can say that you have so many people who love you and are also fighting for you. And it’s quite alright to lean on us when you’re feeling down.”

She sighed and, evidently taking his advice, leaned into him. “I know, but you know how I am. And it’s not just us anymore; I’m so scared about leaving you alone with her—not that I don’t trust you or something; I just—I don’t want to.”

“I know. But remember what you told me—we’re in this together. All of this.” Her hand was still shaking in his, so he placed on the side of his belly, where their daughter was punching. “And all of us.”

She gave a small smile and wrapped her free arm around him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I thought I was the one giving the hope speeches while you had this ‘waterskin strapped about your midsection,’” she said, giving his belly a light rub and quoting a complaint of his from the other day. 

“I’m sure I’ll need another one before the day is out.” 

For a moment, they just stood there quietly, enjoying each other’s presence. She did have to step aside to move the eggs off the burner, but she was quick to return.

He knew she wouldn’t like his next question, but he had to ask. “Your vision—has anything changed in it?”

He felt more than saw her shake her head. “No; it’s all still the same. Same night, same hooded figure, same sword.”

“Have you looked at the blade at all lately?” Considering it had triggered a vision once before, it was safe to assume it could again.

“No, haven’t touched it. I mean, I look at it when I go to the basement to do laundry, but it’s not like Excalibur—I can’t feel it.”

He shuddered at the memory of that cursed weapon. “Perhaps it’s time to talk to Regina about it?” They’d meant to, but, well—no one would blame them for being distracted.

“Yeah, because the last time we talked to her went so well,” she replied sarcastically.

He winced again. A couple weeks ago, Regina thought she’d found a way around the spell on him to get things moving again. They’d convened at the hospital, with Whale on standby, so Emma could help her with the counterspell; apparently, it needed a fair amount of light magic, combined with a touch of true love.

The specifics of it were still a bit fuzzy, especially since he’d had a hard time getting comfortable the night before and sleep had been limited—so he’d been extra eager to try anything that might get the little lass out. Regina had some odd ointment he needed to rub over his stomach (he’d been impressed at her restraint when he lifted his shirt to expose its roundness, though a barb was clearly on the tip of her tongue) and an incantation for her and Emma to recite.

As soon as they started, he felt a tingling over his skin—first where he’d applied the cream, then all over his body. It was just a tickle at the outset, but soon turned painful, a sparking sensation taking over. He’d instinctively tried to cover his belly with his hand as he curled in on himself, trying to brace against the sudden onslaught; he was no stranger to pain but this was a bone-deep agony and he couldn’t help from crying out.

He could hear Emma shouting at Regina to stop as he whimpered, but she’d insisted they keep going; he lost track of time after that until it was suddenly all over and Emma was back at his side as he gasped for breath.

It hadn’t had any effect, positive or negative (thankfully); Whale’s assessment after the fact gave them the all clear. Regina apologized profusely, and he didn’t hold it against her—he knew she was just trying to help—but it took a few days for them all to calm down.

(One thing she had told them, blessedly, was that the accelerated nature of the pregnancy only applied to the babe while she was in the womb. He had worried more than once she’d be facing an equally hastened life, but sighed in relief at that revelation.)

“It’s still worth a shot,” he said. “She can’t know any less than we do.”

“True. But later; you need to eat and we have an appointment to get to.”

He huffed—both at the way she was putting it off and the idea of another trip to the hospital—but agreed. So after an “absolutely disgusting” (to quote Emma) breakfast of habanero scrambled eggs on a strawberry Pop-Tart, they set off on the sometimes-manageable, sometimes-arduous walk to the hospital.

Today was the latter, and he was never so happy as he was to lay back on the thin padding of the exam table as Whale poked and prodded. He’d gotten used to the exam by now and was starting to wonder what the point of it was. “No change,” Whale said, as he had for the past several.

They did try to medically induce last week, giving him an IV of various hormones meant to kick start the process. But after hours of waiting, nothing happened. And there had obviously been no delayed effect.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” Whale told him. “Weight’s good; the baby’s heart sounds fine. If we ever find out who did this, I’m going to need to pick their brain and take a good look at that spell. It’s still got me stumped.”

Killian and Emma exchanged a tired look at the old news. “It’s probably going to happen at the least opportune moment,” he grumbled, rubbing a sore spot low on his belly.

“That’s how it tends to happen here,” Emma agreed, no doubt thinking back to her brother’s birth. (The topic of Zelena’s accelerated pregnancy was not one they wished to dwell on.)

Whale’s pager went off then, so he left them with an “Until next time.” Killian waited until he was out of the room before collapsing against Emma.

“I’m going to be pregnant forever, aren’t I?” he moaned.

She noticeably didn’t refute it, but she did rub his back as she chuckled at his theatrics. “Come on; let’s go to Granny’s. Maybe she’s got some new old wive’s tale we can try.”

If anyone was likely to, it was the old wolf. The walk to the diner was as equally (un)pleasant as that to the hospital, but at least this trip held the promise of onion rings at the end.

David was already seated in a booth when they arrived; it wasn’t the easiest thing for Killian to maneuver in and out of—the edge pressed into the top of his bump—but the cushioned seats were much more comfortable right now than Granny’s chairs.

“No change?” he asked.

“No change,” Killian confirmed.

“It’ll get there eventually,” Dave encouraged. He’d been uncharacteristically caring toward Killian for the past few weeks—most likely out of guilt. He may have cracked a joke about Killian’s present resemblance to Smee during one of their weekly family dinners, and after a day in which their daughter had been especially abusive to his insides, it might have caused Killian to burst into tears; it was just what his oversensitive emotions didn’t need to hear. Ever since, Dave had been nothing but helpful, almost affectionate, towards him.

Next to him, Emma was sucking down a cup of coffee. “Rough night?” David asked.

She tried to brush it off again, but Killian wasn’t having it. “She had another vision.”

Emma shot a glare at him, but nodded.

“I thought they had stopped?”

“Well, they’re back. It’s not like things are low-stress right now.”

Now Killian was the one feeling guilty; he reached for her hand where it sat on the table and gave it a squeeze. 

“I get that,” her dad said. “But maybe you should talk to someone about it again? Archie, Regina?”

She looked over at him, as if she was expecting the arched, knowing eyebrow he was giving her. “Yeah, I guess. I’ll see if I can talk to her today.”

It wasn’t the most tense meal he’d ever had, but it was certainly up there. Although it was hard to notice the anxiety in the air when he was presented with a full platter of fried, onion-y goodness. (He was almost lamenting the fact that David normally would have a quip at the ready about the way he was eating them and the dangers of acquiring a belly permanently. Only almost, though.)

After the meal, Emma poofed them home. And then retrieved the sword from the basement. 

“You’re going to take it to her?”

“Yeah. You’re right; we need to do something. And if I can’t get rid of my anxiety over you and the kid, then at least I can do something with this.”

He pulled her close and pressed a kiss on her temple. “You’ve got this, love. Good luck, and let me know how it goes, okay?”

“Of course. I’ll see you soon.” And with another kiss, she was on her way.

For some reason, though, he was left with a sense of foreboding at her departure rather than relief. He wouldn’t have lasted so long as a captain if he hadn’t learned to trust his instincts, but with his emotions changing on a dime and occasionally veering on the irrational, he wasn’t sure of the validity of this one. 

True to his word, Killian ended up taking a nap on the sofa that afternoon, which was where Henry found him when he arrived home from school; he was startled awake when the boy threw himself down on the adjacent cushion. 

“Long day, lad?” he said groggily, stretching and noting just how many vertebrae cracked before massaging the sore spot on his side where the babe had apparently been assaulting. 

“Yeah; glad it’s almost over. You?”

“Same as usual.”

“What did the doctor say?”

“Nothing new.”

“Seriously?”

“I don’t think we’d be having this conversation otherwise.”

“Touché. Where’s Mom?”

“Supposed to be with your other mom, investigating the sword we found in your grandfather’s shop.” He did his best to reach for his phone from the coffee table, though he could only bend so far with his belly in the way. Henry quickly jumped in to help, as he’d been doing for all of the past weeks. The proud tear at Killian’s eye would likely embarrass Henry, but he couldn’t help it—the boy was going to be a fantastic big brother (and it was obvious that he was excited to be one).

He thanked him (hopefully, his voice wasn’t too watery) for handing him the phone and checked it for any messages. There was a text from Emma from an hour ago letting him know they were headed to the vault, but nothing since; he didn’t know what to make of that, but the unease in the pit of his stomach grew. 

He tried to ignore it, instead focusing on the list of movies Henry was telling his little sister they’d watch if she ever deigned to make an appearance. It was a pleasant distraction, but short; Henry had only reached  _ Lord of the Rings _ before the front door flew open and Emma and Regina in with it. 

He took it as a good sign that Emma was carrying the sword, and confidently. “I take it things went well?”

“Ish?” she said. “We didn’t really get that far before we ran into the Evil Queen in the cemetery.”

Henry stiffened next to him. “What was she doing?”

“Trying to stir up drama, as usual,” Regina complained. “Was I really ever that bad?”

Emma didn’t answer but Killian gave her a slight nod of confirmation. (It clearly wasn’t the point of the conversation.) But Emma did go on to say, “We found out that this sword can hurt her. And we’re going to try to put a stop to her tonight.”

“No, Mom, you can’t!” Henry shouted, jumping up toward Regina. Killian didn’t like the idea either—the memory of Doctor Jekyll’s, and subsequently Mister Hyde’s, demise at his hand was fairly fresh. 

“It’s okay, Henry—it only hurts her; not me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Emma answered. “I may have taken a swipe at her earlier that left a pretty visible mark.”

She was clearly proud of her action but wasn’t sure if she should be; she looked to him for affirmation. And he gave her an encouraging grin, which she answered by blushing and failing to hide her own smile. 

But her shrill phone ringtone broke the silence, and after a short exchange, announced, “That was Leroy; Evil Queen was spotted heading down Main Street. And my dad is already on his way there.”

With no little effort, Killian stood and reached for her free hand. “You sure about this, love?”

She nodded resolutely. “In this case, the cliche is true; I was born for this.”

“No, Mom—don’t do it,” Henry interjected, switching his attention to Emma. “How do you know this isn’t how you die—that she’s not the hooded figure in your vision?”

“I can’t sit out every battle because it might be my last. I’m the Savior, kid,” she told him, dropping Killian’s hand to pat him on the cheek. 

“But you’re also my mom. And you’re her mom,” he added, nodding towards Killian’s belly.”

“I know. And this is how I make sure the future is safe for both of you.”

Henry pulled Emma into a bracing hug and Killian quickly made a decision. “I’m coming with you.”

Emma pulled back from Henry with a wide-eyed expression, while Regina exclaimed from the background “Like hell you are!”

“Killian, no—I can’t be worried about you—both of you—while I’m facing her.”

“And there’s no bloody way I’m letting you go after her without me. You need all the support you can get.” In reality, though, he just didn’t want to be far from her in the event of something tragic. He hated that his thoughts wandered that way, but his growing anxiety hadn’t abated. 

She sighed, then looked over at Regina. “Will you stay here with Henry?”

The Queen clearly didn’t like the idea, but still said “Of course.”

“Alright; let’s go.”

He was dressed and out the door faster than he’d been in ages, the steel of his sword a comforting cool in his grip. He also saw a protest die on David’s lips when they met up with him; he understood where Killian was coming from. 

And then a scream rang out, and the night dissolved into utter chaos. 

The first and most gut-wrenching event being Emma’s disappearance. 

She’d been within arm’s reach and suddenly was...gone. Victim of the Evil Queen’s genie wish gone awry. 

He nearly made a lunge for her then but David held him back; and it made no matter because the Evil Queen’s laughter told him he was less than fierce at present. 

Regina quickly found a way to follow Emma to...wherever it was. David in turn managed to get his hands on the lamp, though it was hard to say if he’d done any good with it before handing it over to Jasmine. 

And then Leroy came barging into the loft with the Evil Queen, now in the form of a snake, in a cage, and screaming about a hooded figure arriving. 

Killian threw his head back against the couch cushions he’d been sitting on and closed his eyes; even the kicks he was feeling from within seemed nervous. Could this night get any worse?

—————————

In the past month, Rumple had occasionally forgotten about the spell he’d placed on Hook, so consumed as he was in dealing with both the Evil Queen and trying to track down his son. But every now and then, he’d get a glimpse of the man struggling with his large bump around town and feel a small rush of glee at the difficulties he was surely having. A few times, he contemplated letting labor start, but decided to hold off. 

Until the night that Emma, and later Regina, disappeared into a mystery realm without a trace. It would certainly be cruel to force a man to give birth without his significant other—or another especially strong ally—around, wouldn’t it?

He dug the orb from his pocket; the pirate looked especially miserable tonight. Perfect. With a wave of his hand, he let the spell resume, and watched with rapt attention to see what would follow.

——————————

David had sprinted out of the loft before Killian realized what he was doing; it took significant effort to catch up to him as he strode down the street. (It was somehow only just hitting him that he’d never put the belly band back on after his nap...bloody hell. He was sure he was making a scene worthy of slapstick, holding his bump and attempting to run after the prince.)

“You really think you can keep up with me?” David shouted over his shoulder when he realized Killian was following. “I have to find that guy before Emma gets back. The only way she's gonna see that hooded figure is behind bars.”

Killian managed to catch up with and pull him back by the arm. “Easy, mate. I thought the plan was to get some shut-eye, kiss Snow back in, recharge.”

“Yeah, well, plans change now that this guy's in town.” Somehow, David was convinced the wish he’d made for the Evil Queen to ‘get what she deserves’, as nebulous as a request that was, had brought the man here; Killian wasn’t convinced, but couldn’t manage to tell him otherwise. “I am not gonna wake Snow until I fix this. If you're not with me…”

“I'm with you, mate,” he assured him, placing (what he hoped was) a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I just hope you know what you're doing.”

David scoffed. “You and me both.”

Dave made to move away, but a sudden pain overtook Killian that had him gripping onto David’s shoulder and cringing. He wrapped his brace around the low part of his belly as the entire thing clenched up; it was like a Braxton-Hicks, but significantly stronger, and had him cursing.

“Hook? What’s wrong? Is the baby…?”

It was followed by the oddest sensation of liquid flowing out of him from a point low in his pelvis. Bloody hell; of course it would happen now, when Emma was missing.

He tried to breathe, but another contraction was quick to follow. “Shit,” he winced, trying to breathe through it. “She’s coming. Now.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Oh, shit,” David cursed, uncharacteristically, while trying to hold Killian up. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“You can say that again,” Killian panted out, attempting to keep things light before another contraction—stronger than the last—quickly overtook him. Whale had been right when he said this would be fast. “Where’s your truck?”

“Back home,” David lamented. “Do we have time for me to go get it?”

Killian sadly shook his head, remembering the time limit Whale gave them. “I won’t last that long.”

A few more expletives left David’s mouth as he glanced at their surroundings. “Think we can at least get you to Granny’s?”

“I hope so.”

David wrapped an arm around Killian and helped him hobble to the diner—only a few hundred feet away, but it might have been a mile with the fact that he had to stop twice to breathe through contractions.

Suddenly, Belle was on his other side. “Is this what I think it is?” she asked, nearly panicked.

“Yeah, he’s in labor,” David confirmed over his head; normally he’d complain about not being allowed to speak but he was glad someone else was confirming the obvious.

Belle ran ahead of them and got the door as they carefully made their way up the stairs. And to his surprise, Granny kept ushering them through. “Get him upstairs to one of the rooms; it’s gonna have to be up there. I’ll be right behind you.”

Never had a staircase been so arduous, but they managed to get up and into the first room on the landing with as much ease as was possible (not much, though). David and Belle helped him onto the bed just as an even harder contraction took over. “Bloody hell,” he shouted, wrapping his arm around his belly as if it might help at all.

This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. Emma was supposed to be here; he was supposed to be able to lean on her. He didn’t know if he could do it without her, but—shit, it seemed like he had no choice; the contractions were getting impossibly closer together.

Dave and Belle had been hovering over him; no one seemed to have any clue what to do, least of all him, though they kept encouraging him to breathe. Thankfully, Granny burst into the room with a mess of towels and blankets, and for some reason, her crossbow. He didn’t question it, but he hoped they didn’t need it.

To his relief (well, as much as he could be), she started barking out orders, sending Dave and Belle running while he slowly got to his feet so he could remove his (now-wet, but still trusty) jeans and anything else that might be in the way. He nearly fell when a contraction hit right in the middle of that, but David caught him, and then helped guide him back to the bed.

He should have felt self conscious at the way he was presently on display, but the way the contractions were coming—and his general emotional distress—prevented him from caring much. (At least he still had his shirt on, though it was sweat-drenched and hiked up around his chest, exposing the bump to fresh air—not that it cooled him much.)

Things began to blur together in the haze of pain and pressure, but he eventually realized he was laying on the bed with Belle on his right side, holding his hand, and David on the other, supporting his shoulders and gripping his forearm. Granny was below them, likely getting a horrific show, but she didn’t seem to mind much.

The contractions were almost nonstop at this point. Tears of pain were streaming down his cheeks. But all he could focus on was the fact that Emma was missing this.

“Hook? Hook!” Granny shouted, pulling him from his thoughts. “You need to push.”

“I can’t,” he cried back. “I need Emma; she should be here.”

“No one’s gonna argue that,” she threw back. “But this kid is coming now. And it’s not gonna end well for either of you if you don’t.”

“We’re right here, Killian,” Belle said softly, squeezing his hand and rubbing his back. “I know you can do this.”

“You’ve got this, man,” David echoed. “Emma wouldn't want you to wait.”

He was right; he could imagine the way she’d yell at him for hesitating. So he took a deep breath, and when Granny told him to, gave it everything he could.

And again.

And again.

He had no idea how long he’d been pushing—it felt like both forever and a brief moment—with the pressure and pain mounting until, finally, there was a brief respite.

“Head is out!” Granny called. “You’re almost done.”

“You’re doing so good!” Belle told him, but he couldn’t acknowledge the commendation; he just needed to finish.

And with one more solid push, the babe was out; he could hear the crying coming from somewhere down below, but he was spent, and collapsed against the pillows.

But then—there she was, placed right on his chest. She was screaming something fierce and covered in gunk, but Killian had never seen anything more beautiful, and quickly wrapped his arms around her. “Hello, little love,” he said through tears. “You’re here; you’re finally here.” It took a moment, but she calmed in his embrace, and gods, he was so in love.

And so wishing Emma was here.

He could see her in the tiny dimple of his daughter’s chin and the shape of her eyes; he wondered what color they’d be, but right now, deep blue was staring up at him. He gently ran a finger over the messy fuzz on her head, then traced the shell of a pointed ear she’d inherited from him. 

Gods, but she was perfect. He placed a kiss on the top of her head and let the euphoria of holding her replace the agony of labor. He knew things weren’t done, but he’d gotten through the hard part, to the best one. He glanced around—David was hovering over them, wiping happy tears from his own eyes; Belle wasn’t hiding hers at all, though.

He became so lost in cataloguing every feature of his daughter’s—ten fingers, ten toes, a darling little nose—that he was only vaguely aware of the goings-on around him, he was so taken with her. At some point, David secured and cut the cord; Granny tucked a soft blanket around her; and Belle joined him in cooing over her. 

Despite Emma’s absence, it was as perfect as it could be. It seemed as though nothing could tarnish his happiness at this moment.

Until it all came crashing down.

“Well, isn’t this a happy scene?”

The Dark One stood at the foot of the bed, grinning in his creepy, reptilian way.

“What are you doing here, Rumple?” Belle snapped. “You should be out there—”

“You think I haven’t been?” Killian was clearly missing something here, but was too concerned with the Crocodile’s appearance so soon after he’d given birth; he placed his hand protectively over his daughter’s head.

“The bloody hell do you want?” he spat with as much strength as he could muster; out of the corner of his eye, he noticed David had his gun leveled at the villain, as did Granny and her crossbow.

“Am I not allowed to offer congratulations on your new addition? You’re welcome, by the way.”

Bloody hell; he knew he should have trusted his instincts that pointed to the imp. “Why?” was all he could muster, though.

“You’ve taken everything from me, pirate,” Rumple snarled. “And now it’s time you know what that feels like.”

Suddenly, Killian’s arms were empty and the baby was in the Dark One’s hold. “Give her back!” he shouted, albeit weakly, while attempting to sit up. Until the lingering pain in his abdomen halted him. 

“Oh, I won’t harm her,” the Crocodile sneered. “But good luck finding her.” And then they were wrapped in a familiar cloud of grey magic—and were gone.

“No, no, no!” he shouted, pushing through the pain in an attempt to stand from the bed. He didn’t—he couldn’t—the baby—

But stronger arms than his were pushing him back down. “Calm down, Killian,” David said, his firm hands a comforting weight on his shoulder. “Take a breath. You’re in no shape to run after him right now.” Killian wanted to protest, but Dave didn’t give him a chance. “But I am. Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” he said without thinking.

David nodded, gave him an encouraging squeeze, and ran off after the Dark One. Killian could only hope he caught up to him—but more that no harm befell the child.

Bloody hell—he just took her, right out of his arms. He stared down at his hand; it was still covered in the mess that was all over her. He felt suddenly drained and just so, so empty.

Belle wrapped her arms around him, apparently sensing his impending break down. “I’ve got you,” she said softly; he turned in her embrace and collapsed against her, into what was surely a mess of sobs and gods only knew what else.

Once he had calmed down, Granny guided him through the things that came after; they were less painful than birth, but he felt detached in a way that he hadn’t since his heart had been in the Crocodile’s possession.

He wanted to sleep, but he also wanted to chase down the Dark One, though neither would likely satisfy him until his daughter was safely back in his arms. For the moment, though, he was too tender and sore to do much but lean against Belle. 

“Didn’t think I’d get the chance to repay you for being there for me,” she murmured. 

“What a pair we make,” he replied, though his heart wasn’t in it enough to truly make light of the situation. 

Blessedly, the after effects of the spell seemed to hasten his recovery, though he was still very tender and his midsection hadn’t deflated anywhere near as much as he expected it to, especially considering it felt like there was a void inside him. He was pulling his jeans back on, thankful for the support of the elastic, when something in the street caught Granny’s eye; she’d been standing guard ever since she was done tending to him. 

“Looks like Emma’s back,” she assessed, “and she’s going at it with the guy in the hood.”

“Gideon,” Belle gasped. 

“Not your Gideon?” he asked, but the frightened look on her face was confirmation. There was clearly a story there, but there’d be time for it later. “Let’s go,” he commanded, offering her his hand, and they dashed off. (At least he could do that again, albeit stiffly.)

They joined David and Henry on the street and all eyes turned to the action in the center of it. The clang of steel on steel just added to the anxiety he was feeling, but he felt a small rush of pride that Emma was able to keep her own with—Gideon, apparently, now grown. The number of oddities related to the normal passage of time was becoming ridiculous. 

He breathed a sigh of relief when Emma disarmed Gideon, who promptly disappeared. He hadn’t realized he’d still been holding Belle’s hand until she squeezed it; she was giving him an apologetic look, but he could tell what was on her mind, so he just nodded and watched as she ran off into the night to track down her son. 

And a moment later, Emma was slamming into him with a bruising hug—quite literally, given how tender he still felt—but he didn’t hesitate to reciprocate and pull her close. He could feel her stiffen the moment she realized his embrace felt different, though.

She jumped back and her eyes roamed his body before finding his, a wide-eyed look of shock on her face. “Killian—did you—did she—?”

“Aye,” he nodded, tiredly confirming her suspicions. 

“What? Where—“

“He took her,” he breathed, suddenly being hit again with the grief of his daughter’s disappearance. 

“Who, Gideon?”

He shook his head. “The Crocodile. It was all him.”

“Fuck,” she said, then wrapped her arms around him again. He was doing his damnedest to hold it together—for her sake—but couldn’t fight the stirrings of paternal anguish within. “We’ll find him. He’s not gonna get away with this.”

He knew they would—it was the family motto, right? But he could feel his adrenaline fading into fatigue; he’d need to figure out a way to get a second (third?) wind before they set off again. 

Emma pulled back a bit, but still stayed wrapped around his side. “Regina, do you know where he might have gone? Or can we get a tracking spell at some point? And Dad, can you go talk to—“

“Uh, no,” Regina interrupted. “Neither of you are going traipsing around town in your present shapes. Emma, you were just running halfway around the Enchanted Forest, and I don’t think I need to remind you what it feels like to be a few hours removed from giving birth,” she added, nodding toward Killian. He finally noticed the figure standing next to Regina: Robin Hood, although he was dressed in the garb of their home realm (and was staring wide-eyed at Killian). He was exceedingly curious about where they’d been, but it was not his main priority. 

“Regina, he took our daughter—right out of my arms,” he explained, as calmly as he could muster (though certainly tearily). “We have to find her.”

“And you will,” she assured them. “I promise you will, and I will be right there to help you. But it’s not going to do anyone any good—least of all her—if you get hurt chasing after them because you ran headlong into danger.”

He wanted to argue, but the weight sharing he and Emma were presently engaged in was pretty damning evidence of her point. And he couldn’t accuse her of not understanding—not after he’d led them all across realms for her own son. 

“Both of you, go home. Have a nap. Then come find me in the morning, and we will move heaven and earth to find her.”

“I don’t trust him, Regina; what if he does something to her?” Emma protested, albeit weakly.

“If that was really his son, he’s got much bigger worries,” Regina drawled. “And I’d hope he knows better than to risk Belle’s wrath any further.”

It wasn’t comforting, but it was at least placating. She offered to translocate them home, and they took her up on it; the next moment, they were back in their bedroom, Regina’s violet magic dissipating around them. 

And then they collapsed against each other, falling on their knees to the floor in a mess of limbs and tears. No words were said—not there was much to say as they were both carried off in a tidal wave of emotions. Just as he had no idea what she’d gone through, she was likely ignorant of his ordeal. There’d be time to explain soon; they had to cry it out first. 

Eventually, after countless comforting kisses and caresses, they both calmed down a bit. They stayed silent, though, as Emma helped him stand and they went about their evening routines. It was eerily normal, but the weight of everything that had happened was hanging over both their heads, rather than where it had been about his midsection. 

Emma wrapped up in the washroom before he did, leaving him alone with his reflection for a moment. As he’d previously observed, there wasn’t a ton of change when looking at him head on, although he’d donned one of his old shirts for the first time in so long. Turning to the side, though, was a dramatic change from this morning. He’d apparently gotten used to his appearance this past month and the difference was jarring: his massive bump was reduced to a smaller one—closer to where he’d been at the start of the third trimester—that he knew would likely be gone within a day (though he doubted he’d ever regain his flat stomach). 

Out of habit, he traced it, but it felt hollow—just like he did right now. Part of him still wanted to burst out the door chasing Rumplestiltskin, but Regina was right—he needed more time to rest; they both did. 

He finished washing up and shuffled back to the bedroom. Emma was waiting for him in the bed, sitting cross-legged facing his side of the mattress. They needed to talk, he knew; but he refused to do it without her wrapped in his arms. She didn’t protest when he gingerly collapsed on the mattress and pulled her close. 

“God, Killian—I’m so sorry,” she murmured as she tucked herself into his shoulder.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” he answered. “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

“But you shouldn’t have had to go through that without me. I was supposed to be there for you—I promised.”

“Don’t beat yourself up; we didn’t know. Should have expected it, really.”

“How are you the level-headed one right now? You’re still hormonal as hell. Shit—we probably should have taken you to the hospital.”

“I’ll go when we have our daughter back. Right now, I’m just...I’m so drained.”

“I don’t blame you.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

He didn’t, not really, but perhaps it would be cathartic. So he told her everything, from the moment his water broke, through labor and delivery—with David and Belle at his side, and Granny taking care of them—to Rumplestiltskin’s appearance...and disappearance. 

Emma brushed the tears from his cheeks as he relayed the tale, and he didn’t miss her own tracking down her face. “God, you didn’t even get an epidural,” she finally said, somewhat hysterically. 

He let out an empty half-laugh. “I don’t think I’d have been able to get one anyways. I’m just glad I had your father and Belle there; gods only know what I would’ve done without them. I owe them immeasurably.”

“Knowing them, and how much they both care for you, they wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.” She pressed another kiss to his cheek, and her hand wandered down to his still-tender belly. “Damn; I never thought I’d miss your bump,” she said on a chuckle. 

“There’s still a fair bit there,” he replied. “And at the moment, I’d much rather still have her abusing my bladder than the present situation.”

“Me too,” she sighed, then laughed to herself. “It’s funny—I couldn’t help but think how much he looked like you in that regard.”

“Who?”

“Oh, sorry—the other you. Where I went.”

He tilted his head, confused. “I thought Regina said you were back in the Enchanted Forest?”

“A version of it,” she explained. “A really weird one.” She went on to describe the twisted world she’d found herself in—a world wherein Regina’s curse was never cast, where she’d grown up with her parents and raised her son.

“That part doesn’t sound so bad,” he said, trying to swallow the fear of a similar fate to the one Emma grew up in befalling their daughter. 

She wrinkled her nose, though. “That version of me was obnoxious. I could do without the trauma I’ve lived, sure, but that was just too much the other way.”

She continued on, mentioning the alternate versions of other folks they encountered—including Robin Hood, which explained the thief’s inexplicable presence at Regina’s side earlier. “And you, of course.”

“Do I want to know what I was like?” He couldn’t imagine it was anything good. 

“Well, remember—no curse, so those 30-ish years passed like they were supposed to,” she said. 

“Let me guess: old, fat, and drunk?”

“Something like that,” she confirmed. “His beer belly was almost a match for your baby bump. Almost. But looking at you—him—like that just made me want to get back to you sooner.”

“I have to imagine I was less than honorable as well, if I spent the better part of three decades lost in my cups.”

“No, actually; he was kind of trying to save me—or at least get a reward. It was definitely in-character.” She snuggled a bit closer. “And you’re definitely going to be a silver fox someday.”

He gave her a kiss at that, and a silence settled over them, but he wouldn’t call it comfortable. He was too worried for his mind to shut off, despite the weariness that he felt deep in his bones. 

Was she alright? Was she warm enough? Dry? Hungry? Was she upset, or was she sleeping? Intrusive thoughts plagued him of all the ways things could go awry, magical or otherwise. 

“Shh,” Emma crooned, pulling him impossibly tighter to her. He didn’t realize he’d been crying again. “Sleep. And then we’ll find her.”

He never really calmed down, but he eventually drifted off into a fitful sleep. 

———————

Rumplestiltkin suddenly realized he had absolutely no knowledge of newborns. That fact was brought into screaming clarity as the baby was, well, screaming. Perhaps he hadn’t quite thought out this plot well enough. 

Add to that, he should have been tracking down his son, not dealing with the pirate’s spawn. What to do, what to do...he’d have to put her somewhere, he supposed. 

But he couldn’t make it too easy for her to be retrieved, now could he?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> omg, it's the last chapter! Thanks to everyone who's gone on this little adventure with me...hope you like the last part!

Dawn broke slowly through the gauzy curtains in the nursery. Killian had woken a bit ago and, unable to sleep further, wandered into the room while he waited for Emma to wake. 

He glanced around at the space they’d created for their daughter—crisp whites and all shades of blue, from navy to pastel; a crib just waiting for someone to sleep in it, as well as bookshelves filled with stories waiting to be told; not to mention the closet filled with darling little outfits. The perfect room for the child of a princess and a sailor. 

Killian was sitting in the rocking chair they’d picked out not long ago. He should be sitting in it with her, though—telling her about all the adventures her family had been on, comforting her, rocking her back to sleep. He just hoped their decision to wait through the night hadn’t been a mistake. 

“Hey,” Emma said softly from the doorway. He nearly jumped at her voice, but quickly regained his faculties, and noticed she was already dressed. “I’m gonna call Regina. You ready to go?”

“Aye,” he told her, slowly rising. Sleep had been good for his body, thankfully, but he was terribly sore. His stomach especially was still rather soft and tender, so he continued to wear the maternity jeans; hopefully no one noticed. 

Tragically, he’d lost his appetite for Pop-Tarts, it seemed, but with little else in the kitchen, he swallowed a couple down—along with a generous amount of the coffee he’d so missed these past weeks—and they made the short drive to Regina’s. 

On the sidewalk leading up to the mansion, Emma paused for a moment and grabbed his hand. “We  _ will _ find her, okay?” He nodded and prayed her confidence would overcome his anxiety. “Have hope, alright?”

She took a step but then stopped again and looked up at him. 

“Shit, I think that name might be growing on me. What name had you decided on?”

“Didn’t,” he said briefly. “If I had to give birth without you, there was no way in hell I was naming her without you, too.”

“Okay. We’ll table that for now.”

Inside, Regina didn’t have the best news. 

“I can’t track him,” she said dejectedly. “He’s got magical barriers around him that prevent him from leaving him a trail. So unless you have a way to get through that, we’ll need another way.”

“I don’t give a damn about finding him right now,” Killian spat. “What will help us find the baby?”

“Well, do you have anything of hers?” Regina countered. 

His heart sank; there was nothing—not yet. 

“Exactly,” she said when she got no reply. “I can synthesize a spell, but it’ll need blood from both of you and a day to brew. It’s possible, but let’s leave that one in the back burner.”

That gave him an idea. “What if you only needed my blood?”

Regina snorted. “Did you reproduce asexually?”

“No, but the Crocodile once said that magic seeks out like magic. Would the magic that started all this still be in my blood, and would it connect with her?”

Regina hummed in thought, and gave him a once over; her gaze lingered on the remaining roundness of his midsection—it was like watching his pregnancy backwards, in a way, its shape now resembling somewhere in the second trimester . “How long has it been?”

“About 10 hours.” Gods, he’d been away from her that long. 

“We should be good then, but we’ve probably only got a few more hours.”

“Alright. Do you have a knife?”

Emma was actually the one who came out with a pocket knife; it stung when she sliced the tip of his index finger, but it was by far the least painful of the things that had happened to him in the past day. 

He squeezed a hefty amount of blood out, and Regina waved a hand around it. A marble-sized drop floated into the air and parts of it began to glow, like some odd magical glitter. 

And then it began to move. 

No one said a word, they simply followed it. If anyone noticed three people following a small, glowing, red orb...well, it was Storybrooke. 

It was actually quite frustrating for Killian—despite his physical state, he was so ready to sprint ahead and get to the baby, but the tracking spell moved at a seemingly languid pace. It was only Emma’s hand in his that kept him grounded. 

The bit of blood led them to the convent. He supposed he wasn’t surprised, given the recent history there; and honestly, it was relieving to know she was in a safe space. Weirdly, it waited for someone to open the door for it, then it bobbed through the hallways until it got to the nursery, before falling to the floor in front of one of the cribs. 

He could see her from the door and—oh gods, she was crying. Now he gave in and ran down the aisle to where she lay, ready to scoop his arms in and grab her and—

—And he was thrown across the room when he did, crashing into an empty crib. Bloody hell, just when he’d started feeling somewhat better—now he had any number of additional bruises to deal with. 

He glanced up at his daughter’s crib and could now see the magical force field around it; of bloody course the Crocodile would do that. Emma had rushed to his side and was helping him up, but Regina was inspecting the shield. 

He saw her magic spark against it. “Emma, try to take it down; I think it’s sensitive to light magic,” she directed, then stood back. 

Emma nodded and stepped forward; then with a wave of her hand, the protective layer shimmered and disappeared. “Did it work?” she asked. 

“Try it,” Regina answered, nodding at the baby. 

Slowly, Emma reached in—and wasn’t tossed away. Without wasting any more time, she scooped up the baby and brought her to her chest. Almost instantly, the babe calmed—and tears began to brim at Killian’s eyes at the sight of his True Love cradling their child. 

“God, she’s so beautiful,” Emma effused when he joined them at her side. 

“Just like her mother,” he added, then kissed her on the temple. They continued to coo over her for another minute—the first one Killian had been able to relax during since he delivered last night. 

“Well, that wasn’t as difficult for you as I had hoped.” They all jumped at the Dark One’s voice and sudden appearance, near the door of the nursery. Regina immediately drew up a fireball and put herself in front of them. “Come now, dearie; you know that won’t do anything to me. Might be terrible for her, though.” And again, the baby was in his arms; Regina put away the fire. “Guess we’ll need to find a better place to hide, eh, little one?” he drawled, and was gone again as fast as he’d arrived—with the baby. 

“Bloody hell, not again,” Killian cursed. As if reading his mind, Emma already had her pocket knife out to reopen the cut from earlier. “That spell will still work, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m worried it might not if this goes much longer. You’ll be pleased to know, I’m sure, that your stomach has gotten smaller, but that means the spell is working it’s way out of your system, and quickly.”

He glanced down; the remnants of his bump were indeed reduced. “Then let’s go,” he commanded, offering up his hand. 

The magic led them out of the convent and into the woods. It didn’t seem to follow any specific trail, marked or unmarked, as it made its way up and down hilly areas, past the trees, and through a number of muddy areas. But above all, it was cold, and he hated to think that his daughter was being left to the elements.

Finally, they found themselves in a small clearing, and again, the drop of blood fell to the ground with a slightly morbid plop, right in front of where the baby was still crying, but at least wrapped tight in a blanket, laying in a basket not unlike the one baby Neal had been in after he too had been taken from his parents’ embrace. (It was then Killian realized they hadn’t invited David on this adventure, but hopefully that meant he was getting the rest he was overdue.)

Emma stiffened next to him. “This is where Neal died,” she said quietly. He squeezed her hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, but inside, his stomach turned; of course the Dark One would play such sick games as this, to drag them to the spot where Bae had passed, digging up painful memories along the way. Their daughter let out another heart-wrenching sob, as if she knew the heavy emotions associated with this place.

It took every ounce of restraint in his body to not go running towards his child again, but even from a distance, they could see the magic shielding her makeshift cradle. He still got within arm’s reach while Emma inspected it.

It seemed to be the opposite of last time—now her light magic was sparking against the shield. “Maybe you should try?” she asked Regina.

Sure enough, Regina was able to dissolve the buffer without issue; apparently, this one needed a darker flavor of magic. She didn’t hesitate to pick up the babe—he had to assume the pitiful cries she was making were wreaking havoc on her own motherly instincts—and began to try to soothe her while bringing her to Killian.

“Oh, she’s so precious,” she crooned as she handed her over. Again, Killian sighed in relief, but he was scared to let his guard down, not until they were safe at home. She must have sensed his continued unease, because she called Emma over. “If you both want, we can put a protection spell on her so Gold can’t touch her again; it won’t last forever, but at least for the immediate future. I just need your help to cast it.”

Emma looked at him; he nodded immediately. Whatever kept the Crocodile’s reptilian hands off of her was worth it. “Okay; let’s do it,” she agreed.

Regina was telling her what to do when suddenly, Killian’s arms were empty again.

“Oh, this is getting fun,” Rumple sneered from across the clearing. “Looks like we need a better place to tuck away, dearie,” he cooed.

Emma was gearing up to shoot him with a blast of magic, but the Dark One disappeared again before she got a chance.

Killian didn’t even wait before pulling the scab on his finger. “Please tell me there’s enough magic left,” he asked Regina.

She eyed his midsection, which had nearly returned to its original state (well, as close as it was likely to get). “We’re gonna have to hope so.”

For the third, and hopefully last time, they took off after the sanguine orb. It was feeble and bobbed weekly as it went along, leading them back into town. A few times, it looked as though it would fade away, but Emma was able to keep it going with a bit of her magic; he had to assume that her magic combined with his blood would help it find their babe just as well as the spell that created her had.

Unfortunately, it finally petered out just as they were approaching the marina. His heart sank along with the bit of blood as it weakly fell to the ground, nowhere near their daughter. 

But they could hear her. He didn’t know how he already knew what her cries sounded like, but they were ringing out, low in volume but not in anguish. And they were definitely coming from the direction in which the  _ Jolly Roger _ was moored.

Now, he ran—down the docks, up the familiar gangplank, to the deck of his ship, frantically searching for where his baby had been left. He could hear her still but it was driving him mad that he couldn’t see her—not at the helm, nor on the foredeck, nor in or on any of the crates or barrels on the deck.

“Up there,” Emma gasped, pointing at the crow’s nest. His eyes darted up and he could just make out a tiny fist waving in the air.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed for the millionth time, then dashed to the mast. Emma tried to shout a warning to him, but it didn’t register before he reached for a rung to climb up—and was blasted away yet again.

He was thrown against the railing, crumpling against the deck; he must have hit his head as well, because he was suddenly nauseous—or just the lack of proper sustenance was catching up with his recovering body. Emma again rushed to his side while Regina inspected the mast—or, rather, the magical ward placed on it.

“Shit,” she cursed when it apparently burned her. “He’s got a blood lock on it.”

“His or the baby’s?” Emma asked.

“His, thankfully.” She pulled out her phone. “Henry’s climbed that before, right?”

“Aye, a few times,” he confirmed.

“Alright. I’m calling him.”

By the time the lad arrived 15 minutes later, Emma had helped Killian get upright enough to sit on a crate, but he knew he’d need to see the doctor at some point; he’d been through quite a bit in the past 12 hours and as much as he was loathe to admit it, he at least needed to be looked over. The shape of his stomach seemed to have returned to normal, though—there was still a softness there that hadn’t existed before, and he was sure his abdominal muscles were rather strained. But his hips seemed to have narrowed back to their original size and his jeans were hanging loose.

Henry rushed up the gangplank when he arrived, Belle trailing behind him. “I was at the library and Grandma Belle insisted on coming with,” he panted, out of breath from running. (Killian didn’t miss the way Belle winced at the title; he gave her a tired wink.) “She’s all the way up there?” he asked, gesturing to the crow’s nest.

“Yeah,” Emma breathed. “Think you can climb up there and get her?”

Henry tossed his book bag aside. “Up there—yes. I’m not as confident coming down with a baby in my arms, though.”

“Then she won’t be in your arms,” Regina said. She waved her hand, and suddenly Henry was wearing one of those absurd baby carrier things that Killian had made fun of David for using more than once. Now, though, he saw their usefulness.

Henry walked up to the mast and placed his hand on it gingerly; it didn’t repel him, or seem to have any effect at all. The boy didn’t waste any more time in climbing up; it seemed like both forever and a blink that it took him to scale the mast. 

From the angle they were at, it was hard to see once he reached the top and climbed into the crow’s nest. But it didn’t take long before Henry shouted down “I’ve got her!” They were still watching with bated breath as he carefully climbed down, though.

“You didn’t tell me how adorable she was!” he exclaimed once he was solidly on the deck. She wasn’t crying anymore, just staring up at her big brother with wide eyes. Killian knew she was likely hungry and possibly soiled, but for this one moment, he was just happy to have her back in her family’s embrace; a tear of happiness fell down his cheek.

“Seriously? Risking my grandson, all for the pirate’s spawn?” On cue, the Crocodile was back, scoffing at Regina. “You’re making this whole revenge thing rather more complicated than it needs to be.”

“Revenge for what, Rumple?” Belle spat; she had been cooing over the babe with the rest of them but now turned her attention—and her glare—on her husband. “What could he have possibly done to you to warrant a forced, rapid impregnation and then you kidnapping his child right from his arms, more than once?”

“He took everything from me, Belle!” Rumplestiltskin roared. “Milah, Bae, even you and our son. Why shouldn’t he know that feeling, too?”

“He does. He also lost Milah—at your hand. He also lost Bae—who gave his life up for you. And he’s my best friend, so why wouldn’t I go to him for help?” She took another step to him, her anger making her appear much taller than she actually was. “If you want to know who you should be trying to get back at for all of these so-called slights, you need to look in a mirror. Now our son is still out there, and we actually do have a chance to save him. Or do you want to waste more time being petty?”

“Belle,” he said, trailing off, but now practically whining. 

“Enough. This ends now. And don’t talk to me, or anyone here, again until you’re willing to focus on finding Gideon.”

Killian almost felt bad for the dejection on the Dark One’s face. Almost. But all he really felt was relief when the man finally disappeared. Granted, there wasn’t much else he could do—Emma and Regina had placed the protection spell on the baby while Belle was tearing him a new one—but the ordeal was finally over.

Carefully, Emma pulled the baby out of the carrier and held her to her chest. “We are going to the hospital. Now,” she commanded; Killian wasn’t going to argue. They said quick but enthusiastic thanks to the other three and then she transported them across town.

The next day, they finally—finally—returned home, as a family. Whale kept both Killian and the little lass overnight, just for safety’s sake, but they’d been released that morning with clean bills of health—and she’d just survived her first trip to Granny’s. (There was much cooing and adoration but Killian allowed it...this time.)

Emma went ahead of him to get the door while he carried the car seat up the stairs and into the house. Then he carefully unbuckled her and held her to his chest. He’d never get tired of that feeling, and he swore his heart might burst when she snuggled in closer.

Not wanting to disturb her, he carefully moved into the living room and slowly sat on the sofa. It was a bit crazy to think that the last time he’d been sitting here, she’d still been kicking around inside him; he knew life in Storybrooke was subject to days like that, but it was still the longest day and a half of his life. Hopefully, they’d get a respite here.

Emma wandered in with two mugs of cocoa and took a seat next to him, curling into his side as much as she dared. “God, she really is perfect, isn’t she?”

“Inconceivably so.”

“Was that a pun, considering we didn’t conceive her the normal way?”

“Not intentionally, but I suppose it works.” He was still sore about everything—and sore in general—but he couldn't complain about the little miracle in his arms.

“So what are we gonna call her?” Emma asked, brushing the light fuzz on their daughter’s head. It had been all anyone could ask at the diner.

“Did you still want to go with Hope? It sounded like you liked it,” he said.

“Eh, no. It’s too contrived. I’ll let my parents use it if they ever have another.” She hummed in thought. “But I do really like Alice.”

“Alice Margaret Jones?”

The baby gave the sweetest little yawn just then, and though they knew she wasn’t smiling yet, her face settled into one naturally.

“I think that settles it,” she chuckled gently.

He placed a gentle kiss on Alice’s tiny head and grinned. As stressful, interminable, rapid, and unexpected as this all had been, he was thrilled it was finally over and they could settle into their future, whatever it held.

As long as he was able to hold his daughter and his True Love close, then it would all be fine.


End file.
